


In the Light of the Stars

by little0bird



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Eventual First War With Voldemort, Eventual Post-First War With Voldemort, Eventual Post-Second War Woth Voldemort, Eventual Second War With Voldemort, F/M, McGonagall Post-Hogwarts, Not Canon Compliant, Post-World War II, Pre-First War with Voldemort, World War II, Written before Pottermore, Yanks, Young Minerva McGonagall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-23 12:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 44,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little0bird/pseuds/little0bird
Summary: Minerva McGonagall's story from when she leaves Hogwarts.  A fair bit of it is set during World War II (1943-1945).





	1. Unusual Circumstances

Augusta dropped an envelope on Minerva's bed. 'It's all been arranged,' she told her.

'Thank you.' Minerva spared a glance at the envelope bearing an official Ministry seal.

Augusta sighed and dropped to the foot of Minerva's neatly made bed. 'Minnie, are you quite certain you want to do this?'

'I am.'

'It's dangerous,' Augusta argued.

Minerva set her Transfiguration textbook aside. 'I'm quite aware o' the danger, Gussie,' she said evenly.

'I still don't understand why you feel the need to do something like this.'

Minerva looked down and twisted the silver claddagh ring around her finger. 'I hae my reasons.'

'You could be killed,' Augusta stated, in one last attempt to dissuade Minerva from doing what she felt was foolish.

'Aye.' Minerva's calm voice belied her fear. She reached for the envelope and used her wand to slice it open, tipping the folded parchment into her hand. She scanned the note quickly, and nodded to herself. 'I'm to report as soon as the train arrives in London,' she said quietly. A line appeared between her brows and she frowned. No chance to return to her valley, nor the Devil's Staircase. She wanted so badly to go back, just once, so she could remember. But duty pulled at her, as insistent as the longing to stand on the edge of the rise overlooking Loch Leven, with Lock Linnhe to her left. An errant lock of dark hair tumbled from the combs over her ears, falling into her eyes. She impatiently blew it out of her face.

Augusta watched her intently, waiting for some sort of emotion to cross that stoic façade. 'Minnie…'

Minerva's head shook slightly, and she stared at a point somewhere behind Augusta. 'I canna… I ha' hoped I could stay out o' it. Then  _ he _ died. I canna pretend it doesna affect me, aye?'

Augusta tried one more tack. 'You don't have to join them,' she said softly. 'There are other ways you can help.'

'No.' Minerva's voice was firm. 'There isna any other way for me to do this.'

* * *

Angus McGonagall stood on the platform, arms crossed over his chest. A hulking presence in the shadows – an image only enhanced by the dark cloak he wore and the wild growth of dark beard obscuring the lower half of his face. He waited for the train bearing his daughter and only child. While the chances of Minerva dying during this terrible war were far fewer than those of the Muggles, there was still a chance. Bombs killed magical folk as surely as it killed non-magical folk. The images of the Blitz were still fresh in his mind, even though the Germans had mostly stopped bombing England. He leaned against a pillar, patiently waiting for the younger children to be escorted off the train by Aurors.

At length, Minerva left the train; dragging her trunk behind her and carrying a smaller case in her other hand. Angus unfolded his arms and enveloped her in a rare public embrace.  _ 'Ciamar a tha thu _ , Minnie?' he asked in his customary greeting.

' _ Tha mi gle mhath _ , Da…'

'Truly?' Angus' arms tightened briefly. He remembered the hollow eyed expression she'd worn during the Easter holiday.

'Aye, Da, I am…'

'When do ye hae to report?'

'Now.'

Angus blinked. He cupped his daughter's face in one large hand and brushed a thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. 'I shall worry about ye.'

'I know.'

Angus made to take Minerva's trunk. 'Shall I walk wi' ye to the Ministry, lass?'

Minerva head moved slowly from side to side. 'I want t' do this on my own, aye?' Her jaw clenched stubbornly. 'I hae t' go alone.'

Angus nodded once. 'Ye'll write to me, then,' he pronounced.

'As often as I can.' Minerva's sweaty hand slipped around the handle of her case. Her arm stole around her father's neck and she leaned into Angus, tasting the scent of the Highlands for what seemed like one last time.

* * *

The Auxiliary Territorial Service uniform was bulky and slightly itchy. Not to mention an unflattering shade of khaki that reminded her of bogies. Even her school uniform had fitted better. Sighing, Minerva trudged down the street, keeping a wary eye on the skies overhead. She could make alterations to it when she settled into her quarters.

Soon enough, the nondescript brick building loomed in the middle of the street, surrounded by piles of rubble. Minerva raised her hand and knocked soundly on the scarred wooden door. It opened just enough for her to slip through.

Raucous music spilled through the small, narrow house. Blaring trumpets and wailing saxophones bounced in a melody that brought to mind packed ballrooms, filled with frenetically dancing couples. Minerva's lips pursed disapprovingly. The music was unseemly. She edged through the door and it closed behind her. A young man leapt to his feet from the sofa where he'd been lounging. 'Hi!' he shouted over the music, jabbing his wand at the wireless. The volume lowered to a less deafening level and he held a hand out toward Minerva. 'Captain John Hashimoto. Sacramento, California.'

Minerva firmly shook his hand. 'Sub-Leader Minerva McGonagall.' She released the hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, John.'

He grinned. 'Call me Jack. Only my mom calls me John.'

'If you insist,' Minerva replied stiffly.

Jack Hashimoto slid his hands into his pockets and grinned impudently at Minerva. 'So is Min…? Minnie?'

'It's Minerva.'

'Oooooh. So formal,' he murmured, his eyes twinkling with amusement. 'And feisty. I like that.'

Minerva's eyes narrowed. 'I'm here to contribute to the war effort. Not fraternize.'

'Got someone, then?' Jack indicated the ring she wore on her left hand.

She felt her face freeze. 'I did. He died in North Africa. Kasserine.'

Jack's mobile features stilled. 'I'm so sorry.'

Minerva nodded. 'Thank you.' She spared a glance for the claddagh ring that she'd switched to her left hand the day she'd buried Alasdair. They stood in awkward silence for a long moment, then Jack jerked his head toward the back of the house.

'Let me introduce you to the rest of the guys.'

'Guys?'

'Oh, yeah. What is it you say? Blokes?'

'I take that to mean I am the only woman here?'

'Sorry about that… There's supposed to be another witch coming from the States next month.'

Minerva blinked. 'Very well.'

Jack turned and beckoned to her. 'Come on, then.' He strode purposefully into another room, occupied by only a few younger men. 'This is Lieutenant Reginald Davis.'

A tall, lanky dark-skinned man rose from his chair. 'Ma'am.' He held out a hand to Minerva. She took it, startled at how his hand enveloped hers.

'Lieutenant.'

Reginald burst into deep rumbles of laughter. 'It's Reggie. Not Lieutenant. And only my mama calls me Reginald, and that's when I'm in enough trouble to get hexed into next Tuesday.' He gave Minerva's hand a quick squeeze. 'Hey, Jack… Mama still loves me. Sent cookies in the package we got today.'

'Oh, thank God,' Jack breathed. 'We can save our rations.'

'Ye hae rationin'?' Minerva blurted, shocked.

'Yeah,' Jack said nonchalantly. 'Wouldn't do for us to eat like kings, while the Muggle boys at the front get rations. We're in this together.'

Minerva's mouth snapped shut. 'O' course.'

'You just get outta school?' Reggie asked.

'Two days ago.'

'How old are you?' Jack snorted.

'Age is naught but a number,' Minerva retorted. 'But as a matter o' fact, I am eighteen.'

'Eighteen,' echoed Reggie, a laugh escaping from his lips. 'Good Lord, girl, you're still a baby!' The gaze Minerva turned on him could have created icicles on the noses of an entire Quidditch team. But Reggie was made of sterner stuff. He returned it, his dark, hooded eyes betraying nothing.

Jack's eyes flicked from Minerva to Reggie. He put a hand on Minerva's arm, and drew her back. 'Lieutenant Antonio Lopez,' he told her, gesturing toward another man behind Reggie.

'Call me Tony.'

'Tony…' Minerva inclined her head, unwilling to say more.

Jack ran his hand over his spiky hair, sighing in frustration. 'I'll show you where you'll sleep.' He clamped a hand around Minerva's elbow and steered her up two flights of stairs.

'I'll thank ye to let go o' my arm!' Minerva hissed, attempting to yank her elbow from Jack's grip. He ignored her, and calmly guided her into a small room off the second landing.

'This is your room. Isn't much, but it's better than…' Jack's lips clamped shut, and he flicked his wand at the small camp bed. Linens and a rough blanket spread themselves over it, the ends folding and tucking themselves under the mattress. 'I'm sure it's been a rough couple of days, all kinds of information been thrown at you, and you need time to process it all and settle in. Supper won't be for a couple of hours, so if you want to catch a few winks…'

'I beg your pardon?'

'Get some rest.' Jack spun around and went down the stairs, his footsteps echoing hollowly behind him. Minerva sank to the edge of the camp bed, her icy hands locked together to prevent them from shaking.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair. Tony, Reggie, and Jack were deep in a discussion of some Muggle sport involving cardinals and Yankees. What sort of sport involved birds and a somewhat derogatory word for Americans? There was even mention of the color of their socks, but Minerva couldn't understand for the life of her why it mattered if the team in Chicago wore white socks and the team in Boston red ones. It made her head ache.

Jack saw Minerva pick at her meal from the corner of his eye, and he silently gestured toward Minerva with his chin. Reggie looked at him in disbelief, his expression seeming to broadcast his distaste at engaging her in conversation. Tony nudged Reggie with a sharp elbow, and Reggie rolled his eyes. Jack hastily gulped from his water glass to cover the chuckles that threatened to erupt. He merely coughed and spluttered as he choked.

'Are ye quite all right?' Minerva asked quietly.

Jack coughed a few more times, and nodded. 'Yeah.'

Tony leaned forward. 'So, Minerva… Where are you from?'

'Some wee village ye've never heard of. The closest city is Fort William.'

'Where's that?' Jack asked.

'Scotland.'

'Obviously,' Reggie muttered. 'Could spread that accent on toast…'

'I havena got an accent,' Minerva retorted tartly. 'Ye're the one wi' an accent!'

'What were you planning to do before you joined the war effort?' Jack asked quickly, before Minerva and Reggie could begin landing verbal blows.

'International Magical Law.'

'Wow,' Jack blurted. International Magical Law was considered dreadfully boring in his social circles. However, Minerva fit the stereotype to a T.  


'And the three of ye?' Minerva asked politely.

'Aurors,' Tony said, with a hint of pride. 'We trained together.'

Reggie pushed corned beef around his plate. 'Luckier than my cousins,' he muttered. Minerva glanced questioningly at Jack, but he merely shook his head. Reggie shook himself, rather like a wet and shaggy dog. 'Your folks magic?'

'They were.' Minerva slid her plate aside. 'Are,' she corrected herself. 'My mum died when I was a little girl, and my da still lives in the village where I was born.' Her fingers idly caressed the ring on her finger. 'My fiancé was a Muggle.'

'Was?' Tony's hand stilled over his half-eaten meal.

'Kasserine,' Jack said softly.

'Oh…' Tony's head bowed briefly. Silence enveloped the small table.

Minerva's mouth pressed into a tight line, and her chair scraped against the scarred wooden floor. 'If you'll excuse me…' She fled the table and retreated to the small bedroom under the eaves. The setting sun sparked over the small silver ring and she slid across the camp bed, so her back braced against the wall. Instead of the faded wallpaper, she saw her valley, blanketed with a desolate, frigid mist. Alasdair had no family, but he had, with Minerva's consent, listed her as one who would see to things should he not survive.

She had been the one to make the arrangements when his body had finally completed its final journey from the shores of North Africa back home to Scotland. Professor Dippet had allowed her to leave school for a week, citing her rather unusual situation. Alasdair's things had been waiting in a neat, brown-paper wrapped parcel, set precisely in the middle of her bed. Minerva had buried him near her mother. She didn't think Flora would have minded.

It took the rest of the week for Minerva to work up the courage to unknot the twine and spread the paper to reveal his kilt, plaid, and Muggle photographs of her and the two of them, the edges beginning to fray. It was staggering to realize all of his personal effects could fit in her schoolbag and she would still have room for her Transfiguration books.

And yet, she hadn't shed a single tear. Not that terrible day Dumbledore had called her into his office with the news Alasdair had died. Not the grey morning standing next to a gaping hole in the ground, pelted by heavy sleet that stung her exposed skin. And still not while she sketchily washed and donned her nightdress, then crawled into the narrow camp bed, making sure the blackout curtains were firmly in place, blocking even the dim view of the stars above London

* * *

Minerva's fingers wrapped around the handle of her wand at the sound of a heavy tread on the stairs. The door opened with a crash and the odor of stale beer crept into the room. She kept her eyes tightly shut, feigning sleep, curled in a ball, with her back to the door. Someone dropped ponderously on the edge of the camp bed and curled around her rigid body. 'Mmmmmm. How  _ you _ doin'?' the man murmured, pressing a wet, slobbery kiss to the back of Minerva's neck.

Wordlessly, Minerva jabbed her wand over her shoulder and the man went flying across the room and slammed into the wall. 'I am well, thank you,' she said archly.

Jack, Tony, and Reggie appeared on the threshold, wands out and held out in front of them, in varying stages of dress. Jack lowered his wand. 'Frankie…' he sighed. 'Go to bed.'

'Who th' hell is tha'?' Frankie slurred, pointing an accusing finger at Minerva.

'She's the new one I told you about,' Jack sighed, offering his fellow soldier a hand, and pulled him to his feet. 'The one with the Tommies.'

'She hexed me…'

'She didn't hex you,' Tony snickered. 'She should have, rather than just Banish your smelly ass across the room.'

Frankie pursed his lips and blew a kiss to Tony. 'Love ya, Tony…' he wheezed.

Jack handed Frankie off to Reggie. 'Put him to bed,' he ordered.

'Should we leave him something for the hangover?' Tony asked softly.

Jack studied Frankie, emanating more alcohol fumes than a pub at last call. 'No,' he said finally, knowing he was going to hear about it when Frankie sobered up, and quit feeling as if he'd been hit by a train. He waited for Tony and Reggie to drag a protesting Frankie from the small room, then shut the door. 'Could you put something else on?' he asked Minerva, gesturing to her nightdress.

Bemused, Minerva glanced down. The nightdress was not what she would term particularly exotic or even erotic. Made of white flannel with faint blue stripes, it had long sleeves, and fell well past her knees, and was in fact quite shapeless. But she reached for Alasdair's plaid, draped over the straight-backed chair next to the bed, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Satisfied she was decently covered, Jack pointed to the mussed camp bed. 'Sit down,' he ordered.

A hard light in Minerva's eyes flared. 'I dinna hae t' tae orders from ye!' she hissed.

Jack took a step toward her, his face set. 'I am the ranking officer here,' he said levelly. 'And while you are here, you will do what I say.' Their noses hovered scant inches apart. 'Sit. Down.' Minerva's mouth thinned even further, but she sank to the edge of the bed. Jack pulled the chair around and straddled it, folding his arms across the back. 'Banishing Frankie… That's fine. He's been known to take a stroll through every pub that's still open. But he's never gotten into the wrong bed before. I'll make sure he apologizes to you in the morning.' He took a deep breath. 'You have to try and get along with the rest of us, even if you don't like us.'

Minerva glared at Jack with narrowed eyes. 'How old are ye?' she asked. 'Everyone seems to be verra concerned wi' my age, so I'm askin' ye: how old are ye?'

'Twenty-two.'

'Young t' be a rankin' officer.' Minerva idly examined her fingernails.

'I finished in the top of my class at Salem,' Jack told her hotly. 'Not just the San Francisco school, either. All of them. Did you hear that?  _ All _ of them. And I was the best one in my class in the Auror program. I got the best grades on everything. Because I'm good. And I work hard. And I'm damn lucky to be here. My parents are in some hellhole in the middle of nowhere in Utah. And why? Because my grandparents are from Japan. Both my parents were born in Sacramento. My dad doesn't even speak Japanese and my mom only knows the dirty words. My sister and I would rather have fried chicken or burgers than miso soup. But that didn't matter once Pearl Harbor was bombed. I had to leave the training program in New York and go back to California to help my family pack up their things, so the U.S. government could force them out of the home I lived in my whole life, but I still chose to join up.'

'Ye couldna just leave?'

'Could you?' Jack shot back. He shook his head. 'We're not like you. We're part of the country, not just  _ in _ it like you over here. We couldn't just defy the government.

'The reason why Frankie drinks like a sailor on leave is that his family hasn't heard from his grandparents, cousins, and several aunts and uncles in over a year. They used to get letters through the Red Cross. Not anymore. They could be alive, dead… He's here to try and find them. We know what's going on in eastern Europe. But we have to work within the confines of what the Army will let us do.

'Tony's family helped found his hometown. They've been there since seventeen eighteen. One of his ancestors died in the Alamo…'

'The what?'

'Get Tony to tell you the story sometime,' Jack muttered. 'Either way, the man was a wizard, but there was only one of him, and the opposing army had an advantage of twenty soldiers to their one. The point is, out of all four of us, Tony's family's been there longer than mine, Reggie's, or Frankie's.

'Reggie grew up in North Carolina, and should have gone to the school in Roanoke, Virginia. He wasn't allowed. Because of the color of his skin. He had to go all the way to Salem. His mother was the first witch or wizard in his family to be trained in over a hundred years.

'We don't take what we have for granted. That's why we're here.' Jack stood up and pushed the chair back to its place next to the Minerva's bed. 'We know what's at stake if we lose. And I mean  _ we _ – all of us… Muggle and magic alike.' He strode to the door and laid a hand on the doorknob. 'We have to work together in very close quarters. So we have to learn to live with each other. Now, I happen to like your… spirit… But you have got to take that pole out of your rear end. Or it's going to be hell for the next… Well, however long we're here.' He opened the door and nodded at her. 'Good night, Minerva.'


	2. Morale

Minerva regarded her grimy hands ruefully, picking at the caked grease in her cuticles. She wasn't what she would define as particularly  _ vain _ , but she was horrified at the effect of learning to repair automobiles had on her hands. Three nails broken, another two torn to the quick – she could feel the torn nails throbbing in time with her pulse. Several times, she irritably pushed her hair from her face, vowing for the hundredth time to just be done with it and cut the lot.

Jack, Reggie, and Tony were off doing Merlin-knew-what for the war. Planning some sort of invasion of France. It was still at least a year away, but it made Minerva seethe inwardly that she was reduced to doing menial chores, like automobile repairs, escorting other women delivering ammunition and firearms. She had been made to learn Muggle first-aid techniques, operate searchlights, and was even being taught the rudiments of operating the telephone. She could concede what she did was important, but Minerva had hoped she would be more involved in planning things like the invasion, but apparently, being a woman in this endeavor disqualified her from being able to do more than fix a flat tire on a jeep.

Minerva kicked at a fragment of brick, aiming her frustrations at it, rather than the house full of boys. They seemed to get a bit tetchy if she displayed her temper. So far, she had managed to keep her father from visiting, but Angus wasn't going to stay away much longer. He'd sent a Howler when she'd first written to him, demanding she return home  _ immediately _ . He didn't see why she needed to deprive herself with rationing and risk malnutrition. Furthermore, the Howler had fairly vibrated with indignation from Angus that Minerva was the lone woman in the house with four young men. Not just any young men. Four randy Yanks. Because everyone knew Yanks were the epitome of licentiousness and were prone to lewdness. Minerva had been required to stifle several giggles at that notion. Not only had none of the boys so much as attempted to touch her – well, not since that first night when Frankie had drunkenly stumbled into her bedroom – but they positively avoided the landing with the bath at all costs if she were anywhere near it.

Being relegated to a glorified mechanic and escort was the least of Minerva's worries. The Ministry had sent her a letter that morning. She was going to be assigned to the detail that escorted Queen Elizabeth on her jaunts through London, and half the week, Minerva would spend the night at Windsor Castle, outside of London, helping to guard the royal family. It set her teeth on edge to add "Queen and Princess Minder" to her list of duties that had little to do with what Minerva believed she would do when she joined the war effort.

Minerva opened the door of the house and grimaced at the smudge she left on the knob. The boys were gathered around the wireless, listening to their president. Jack usually had to be forcibly restrained from calling the man several unrepeatable names. Tony glanced up at the sound of her boots striking the floor and did a double-take. His lips twitched violently, and he began coughing to cover the abrupt laugh. Jack, Frankie, and Reggie turned to see what Tony was laughing at, and Reggie clapped a hand over his mouth. Frankie bit his lip and gazed at the ceiling. 'What?' Minerva snapped. 'Hae I somethin' on my face? A great bogie, perhaps?'

'I have no idea what a bogie is,' Jack managed to say with a perfectly straight face. 'But you've got a little something right there…' He gestured with one had at his cheek.

Minerva's lips pressed together, and she dug a handkerchief from the pocket of her trousers, and rubbed it over her cheekbone. 'Did I get it all…?'

Tony, having sufficiently gathered his wits, took pity on the poor witch. 'Minerva, why don't you go upstairs and wash up for supper? he suggested. 'It looks like you've had a rough day…'

'Think she's got enough soap?' Reggie whispered. 'That's every day this week she's had to come home and clean up like that…'

Minerva stiffened. 'I hae enough soap,' she said stiffly. She spun on her heel and stalked up the stairs, footsteps echoing behind her, until the bathroom door slammed shut.

Jack regarded Reggie thoughtfully. 'The two of you are going to have to stop growling and snapping at each other.'

'I'll do it when she does it,' Reggie muttered defensively.

'Whadd're ya? Five?' Frankie scoffed. 'Listen,  _ she'll _ stop doin' it, if  _ you _ stop doin' it.'

'You have been doing it since she got here,' Tony offered.

'She didn't look at you like you ought to be on the back of the damn bus,' Reggie retorted to Tony.

Jack tilted his chair on its hind legs, hands in his pockets. 'I think that's her way,' he said slowly. 'When she thinks she's being challenged or she thinks she has to stand up for herself…' He met Reggie's incredulous glare. 'She did it to me when I gave her that letter from her Ministry saying she had to go play baby-sitter to the royal family.' Jack shuddered a little. 'Honestly, it makes you feel like dog poo… I'd hate to be someone she really disliked…' He trailed off as an unfamiliar owl swooped through the open window. 'Oh, God, what now?' he exclaimed as the owl dropped the letter on the table in front of him. Jack wearily snatched the envelope from the table and tore it open. He yanked the letter out and began reading. 'Oh, no…'

'What?' Reggie leaned over Jack's shoulder. 'Oh, damn.' He plucked the letter from Jack and passed it to Tony, who scanned it, then handed it to Frankie.

Frankie frowned, and his features froze as he came to the end of the letter. 'What the hell was Ruth doing on a goddamned gun boat?'

Jack snorted. 'You know how the Army works. Once we signed up for this insanity, we had to go by their rules. And that means no magical transportation. If we're going to be part of the Army, we have to live by their rules.' He reached for the letter and stuffed it unceremoniously back into its envelope. 'I doubt we're ever going to know what Ruthie was doing on that gun boat. Loose lips and all that…' He sighed and threw the letter into the air, before jabbing his wand at it. The envelope burst into flames that died out before it landed on the floor. 'Come on. Let's go see what we can put together for supper…' He shoved his chair back and started to rise from the seat, then stopped and looked at Reggie. 'I don't suppose Lawrence sent you a sample of his latest batch…?'

Reggie shook his head. 'Nope. But we've still got some of that last bottle left.'

'Great.' Jack rose from his chair. 'We'll have some with dinner.'

* * *

Minerva quietly tiptoed down the stairs, hoping she could cobble together something resembling tea without disturbing the boys. As she came down the last few steps, she ruefully looked down at the brown dress. For most of the past month, she'd worn trousers or her ATS uniform, or anything else relatively shapeless. Anything to try and blend into the wallpaper a bit. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy their company, but Minerva preferred to keep her association with them on a more neutral plane.

This particular dress was several years old, and Minerva was grateful she hadn't really grown up or out since she was fourteen. In fact, the dress hung a bit limply lately, thanks to those weeks she hadn't been very interested in food after Alasdair died. She hadn't been very interested in food the past few weeks, either. If exhaustion didn't rob her of her appetite, the unappealing meals they could put together from their rations tended to take the edge off her hunger as well.

She could hear the sound of the boys rattling around the kitchen, and heaved a deep breath, before pushing the door open. Their chatter died as they looked up and took in the inconceivable sight of Minerva McGonagall in a floral-printed dress. She self-consciously pushed a strand of damp hair from her eyes. 'Can I help with anything?' She was met with more silence. 'Set the table, perhaps…?'

'Uh… yeah…' Jack blindly reached for a stack of plates, and handed them to Minerva. 'Thanks.'

Minerva fled to the other room. Tony looked around the kitchen. 'Was she wearing a  _ dress _ ?' he asked incredulously.

'Yeah…' Jack swallowed.

Reggie grabbed Jack's arm and shook it. 'No…' he warned. 'She's an underling, and you're the CO.'

Jack shook himself. 'I can't appreciate a pretty girl in a dress?'

'Not that one,' Reggie reminded him.

'Shut up, Reg,' Jack muttered.

'Fine,' Reggie huffed in exasperation. 'Look at her. But don't bleat about regulations to me anymore, okay?'

'Yeah…' Jack looked down at the tinned meat sizzling in a pan.

Reggie leaned closer to Jack. 'And just 'cause we're in merry old England, it doesn't mean that things are gonna change.'

Jack stiffened slightly. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Captain or no, you're still the Japanese kid from Sacramento. And she's who she is… Even the magical world isn't ready for that.' Reggie grabbed the bowl of potatoes and sauntered out of the kitchen.

* * *

Minerva traced the tines of her fork through the remains of a potato, leaving a series of parallel mountains and valleys. She cast furtive glances around the table. The boys seemed a bit off. Normally meals were rather boisterous affairs, but tonight was subdued and quiet. 'Has somethin' happened?'

Tony nodded. 'The witch that was supposed to come over was killed. The gunboat she was hitching a ride on to New York was torpedoed. Or that's what they think.'

'Oh.' Minerva set the fork down. 'Did ye know her well?'

'Yeah.' Reggie flicked his wand casually over his shoulder and Summoned a stoneware jug from the dresser in the dining room. Another flick drew out the cork and he poured a small amount in each of their glasses, pausing uncertainly over Minerva's. She snorted contemptuously.

'Ye're thinking I canna hold my drink?'

'This ain't water,' Reggie told her.

Minerva nudged her glass closer to Reggie. 'Pour.'

'Your funeral.' Reggie tipped the jug over the glass and poured a tiny splash of liquid into the glass. Minerva met his gaze levelly.

'I'm no' a bairn,' she said. Reggie smirked and carefully poured an amount equal to the other glasses. Minerva picked it up, briefly saluted the others with the glass and tossed the liquid back without blinking. She then pushed her chair back and gathered her plate and cutlery and carried them into the kitchen, walking steadily, and then returned and continued up the stairs, keeping the same steady pace. Her knees buckled only when Minerva had disappeared into her bedroom. She opened her mouth, and no sounds came out. 'Bloody hell,' she managed to rasp after a few minutes.

* * *

Loud, booming knocks battered against the front door, making the wood shudder each time the fist landed on its surface. Minerva bolted upright, wishing she hadn't, as her head began to pound in time with the door. She stuck her tongue out, convinced she was going to have to perform some sort of charm to shave it. It felt as if it was coated in fur. She heard a muffled curse as one of the boys gingerly shuffled down the staircase and opened the door. 'Who're you?' Frankie asked grumpily, squinting against the relative bright light outdoors, in spite of the cloudy day.

'Where is my daughter?'

Frankie eyed the tall, imposing man, bristling with an impressive amount of facial hair. 'You mus' be Minerva's dad,' he said.

Angus glared at the younger wizard. 'Aye. I am,' he said stiffly. 'Is she here?'

Frankie nodded, rubbing his temples. 'Yeah, and if she's got any sense, she's still in bed.' He stepped aside, allowing Angus into the house.

Minerva stumbled into the sitting room, brushing ineffectively at the wrinkles in her dress. She had vague memories of being restless and unable to settle for the night, then giving up and rejoining the boys. She had hazy recollections of chess games, first with a wizarding chess set, then a Muggle set as the boys attempted one after the other to try and beat her. The games were fueled by more of that strange beverage Reggie referred to as "moonshine". Her knee twinged, and she flicked the hem of the dress aside, astonished at the deep blue bruise blooming over the knee itself.  _ I suppose crawlin' up the stairs at dawn wasna a dream after all _ , she mused. 'Da,' she croaked.

Angus' jaw snapped shut with an audible  _ snap _ as he took in Minerva's disheveled appearance. 'Go and pack your things,' he ordered in Gaelic.

Minerva blinked. 'No.'

Angus' voice was dangerously low. 'I wilna allow ye to stay here,' he informed Minerva. 'Go upstairs now, and collect your things.'

'Ye dinna hae t' shout,' Minerva said sullenly.

Anugs reared back a little. 'I'm no' shoutin',' he rumbled. He glanced toward the stairs, where Jack, Tony, Frankie, and Reggie could be seen clustered on the bottom riser. 'Go get your things,' he repeated, switching back to Gaelic.

Minerva felt a flare of anger rush to the surface, pushing the nausea and the pounding headache aside. 'I will not.'

'You will do as you are told, Minerva,' Angus barked.

'I am of age, Da,' Minerva reminded him.

'This is not decent,' Angus retorted. 'You live alone here with those boys. I thought there was supposed to be another witch living here?'

Minerva ran a hand through her hair, wincing slightly. Even her hair hurt. 'She was killed,' she said quietly. 'Off the coast of America.'

Angus looked uncomfortable. 'I see.'

'What do you suppose they're sayin' to each other?' Frankie whispered to Jack.

'No idea.' Jack leaned against the wall. 'But I doubt it's, "Hugs and kisses, darling. See you next month."' He shuddered. 'I'd hate to meet him in a dark alley.'

Minerva threw a scathing glance over her shoulder at the boys and sighed. 'If ye make me return home wi' ye, I'll only come back,' she told her father in English, well aware the boys could hear everything they said. It saved her from trying to explain later. 'I might be naught but a glorified child minder and automobile mechanic, but it's better than doin' nothin', aye? Do ye want me to no' follow through on my commitments, Da? That's no' what ye taught me.'

Angus indicated the boys with his chin. 'I'll not hae ye exposed to such debauchery, Minerva.'

'Debauchery?' Minerva repeated incredulously. 'Where do ye get the idea I've been debauched, Da?'

'Sleepin' in your clothing, and smellin' like the Three Broomsticks after a Quidditch game?' Angus snorted.

Minerva pinched a fold of the dress' bodice and lowered her nose to it, sniffing gingerly. He was right. She did reek. 'We just played chess, Da,' she replied wearily. 'They kept tryin' to beat me, aye? And we had a few drinks. And there isna anythin' for ye to worry about. They hae strict policies about fraternization.' Her voice lowered. 'And I willna do anything to dishonor  _ his _ memory, aye?'

'I dinna like it,' Angus complained.

'Ye dinna hae to like it,' Minerva rejoined. 'I'm no' a girl any more, and ye canna order me to do things like I was.' She drew herself up to her full height, feeling the headache begin to creep back behind her eyes. 'Go home, Da.'

Angus' mouth crimped under his beard, but he merely shoved a small package into her hands. 'Tea,' he said succinctly.

'Thank you.' Minerva looked down at the package. 'Would ye like to stay for a cup o' tea, Da?'

Angus hesitated. 'Aye.' He slowly reached up and gently brushed a lock of hair away from Minerva's face. 'But only if ye go and wash first, aye? I dinna fancy havin' tea with surrounded by the stink of summat that's been left in the bottom o' a glass in a pub.'

* * *

One by one, the boys filed into the kitchen, dressed in clean olive drab uniforms, trying to make a better impression on Angus, with Jack in the lead. She'd never seen the four of them with such serious expressions before. Jack formally introduced the other members of his team, while Tony busied himself with preparing a pot of coffee the way they liked it – strong enough to strip paint from the walls. Angus watched them gingerly take seats around the table as he raised his cup of tea to his lips. 'Ye lay a hand on my girl, and I will see to it that ye're hexed into insignificance.'

Reggie coughed on a sip of coffee, and Frankie helpfully pounded him on the back. 'Understood, sir,' Jack murmured. He had a feeling the older man could have easily made him disappear and convince people Jack had been a figment of their imaginations. He sat back in his chair and glanced at Minerva. The few times she'd performed magic in front of them, it had been done with a calm sense of purpose that looked nearly effortless. Jack surmised she'd inherited that quality from the man sitting next to her. Angus hadn't raised his voice the entire time, but it was clear he was a man used to having people follow any orders he might give. And Minerva hadn't backed down from her father's demands.

It made Jack see Minerva in an entirely different light.

* * *

An ear-splitting wail tore through the charms surrounding the house. Minerva sat up with a gasp, peering blindly through the darkened room. The door crashed open and Jack grasped her arm. 'Come on!' he shouted.

'I dinna… What is that noise?'

'Air-raid siren,' Jack replied tersely, grabbing Alasdair's plaid and wrapping it roughly around her shoulders. 'Where in God's name are your damned shoes?'

'By the door…' Minerva struggled to make sense of what was going on around her.

'You have your wand?'

'Aye, I do…'

'Then put your shoes on, and let's go!' Jack tugged Minerva impatiently off the bed, pausing long enough to allow her to slip her shoes on and all but dragged her down the stairs and out of the house. They joined a straggly line of people heading toward an entrance to the Chancery Lane station. Minerva struggled to keep up with Jack, her bare feet sliding in her shoes, his hand clamped in an iron grip around her upper arm. Reggie and Tony jostled her from behind, and Minerva had the impression they'd pick her up and carry her if need be.

They managed to make their way down into the deep-level shelter, under the Tube station. 'Do you see anywhere?' Tony murmured, scanning the crowded shelter.

'Over there, I think,' Reggie replied, gesturing with his chin. 'But we might have to split up.'

'Might be best if we did,' Tony muttered.

'Hey, Jack…' Frankie tapped Jack's shoulder. 'The three of us,' he began, indicating himself, Tony, and Reggie, 'will be in that spot over there… See the empty one?'

'Yeah…' Jack strained to see the small space that would just barely fit the three young men. 'I think we'll have to go further into the tunnel…'

Tony examined Minerva. 'I think you might want to explain what's going on more. She looks a little… _loca_…' He grinned as Minerva's eyes narrowed. She didn't understand the last word he'd used, but she was sure it wasn't complimentary, due to the impudent grin on his face.

Jack led Minerva deeper into the tunnel, carefully winding his way around the people already settled for the night. 'You do look a little frazzled,' he commented.

'Ye would look a fright too, if ye had been awakened from a sound sleep by that bloody siren,' Minerva muttered.

'You can go back to sleep when we get settled,' Jack promised. He sidled into an empty alcove and spread out the bedroll he carried. 'I thought the ATS might have warned you.' Minerva shook her head. They had assumed she already knew. 'Sit…' He waited until Minerva folded herself to the floor, then sat next to her, his back braced against the wall. 'You look different,' he blurted.

'I dinna hae my glasses,' Minerva responded placidly.

'Do you want them?'

'Ye're not going back out, are ye?'

Jack shook his head. 'Where are they?'

'Chair next to my bed.'

Jack grinned. 'Prepare to be astounded,' he said in a soft, dramatic voice. He snapped his fingers and in moments her glasses lay balanced across the palm of his hand. Jack unfolded them and slid the earpieces over Minerva's ears. 'There.'

'How did ye do that?' she demanded.

'I told you. I was the top student in my school.' Jack let his eyes close. He cracked one open. 'Want me to teach you?'

'Aye, I would.'

'Tomorrow. I'll show you.'

Minerva looked interestedly around the shelter. There were hundreds of people already in the station, and apparently had been there for hours. It looked as if they practically lived in the Underground station. She eyed the ceiling above them. 'Will it hold?'

'Will what hold?' Jack murmured sleepily.

'The roof.'

'It should. People've been sheltering in here since the Blitz started.' Jack shifted a little. 'Granted, the Jerries haven't bombed London since they ended the Blitz, but you never know…'

'If we're no' bein' bombed, then why sound the alarm?'

'Reconnaissance plane, maybe,' Jack replied. 'Better to be safe. Lots of people think they're just biding their time, and when we're not paying attention… Bam!'

Minerva gathered her hair between her hands and pulled it over her shoulder, then began to weave it into a loose plait. 'The house isna protected?'

Jack glanced uneasily at the Muggles surrounding them. 'Lie down…'

'I beg your pardon!' Minerva said stiffly.

Jack slid down until he stretched out on top of the bedroll. 'Lie down,' he repeated, beckoning with one arm. Minerva reluctantly arranged herself next to Jack. He wound his free arm over her waist, and pressed his chest to her back. 'Now then,' he murmured next to her ear. 'It's Unplottable. And there are a few light Muggle-repelling charms on it. But it won't protect us from German bombs. Magic –'

'Doesna solve everything,' Minerva finished. 'If that is the case, then why do we bother?'

'You're going to Buckingham and Windsor next week?'

Minerva nodded. 'I didna think I'd hae to follow members o' the royal family and mind them, like they were infants.'

'That's not why,' Jack chuckled. 'Think about it. What would it do to your country if something were to happen to them? The morale would drop faster than a rock. That's more important sometimes than firepower. Do you think Britain would have lasted against the Germans as long as they did during the Blitz if morale was low? Get through all the rationing? It's part of your identity. That stiff upper lip. And you've got something to fight for.' His voice trailed off as he drifted off into sleep. 'Important… morale…'

Minerva couldn't sleep. She spent most of the night staring at the sleeping Londoners around her, wondering: how long could they live like this before they descended into despair?


	3. More Than Mere Symbols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shelter in the Underground was stuffy, Minerva decided. The mass of people that sought what protection it afforded from the too-frequent claxons that split the London nights with its terrifying wail added to the sense of airlessness that permeated the station. She was growing to hate Chancery Lane and everything it stood for.

The shelter in the Underground was stuffy, Minerva decided. The mass of people that sought what protection it afforded from the too-frequent claxons that split the London nights with its terrifying wail added to the sense of airlessness that permeated the station. She was growing to hate Chancery Lane and everything it stood for.

Invariably they split up – Frank, Reggie, and Tony went to one area, and she and Jack to another.

After that first night when Jack pretended they were more than colleagues in order to keep the conversation as private as possible, he hadn't laid a hand on her again. Once she'd moved past the initial sense of shock, it hadn't been an unwelcome sensation to sleep with Jack's hand resting on hers. Minerva shifted on the bedroll and gazed at the solid concrete above their heads. 'Are ye scared?' she breathed.

Jack inhaled slowly. 'Sometimes,' he admitted quietly. 'You?'

'Aye.'

'Of what?' Jack turned to his side, and propped his head in his hand.

'I'm no' scairt o' dyin',' Minerva murmured. 'I dinna want to die before I do aught wi' my life.' She glanced at Jack. 'I want to do somthin' useful, aye?'

'Like what?' Jack waited for Minerva to respond. She was silent for so long, he thought she had gone to sleep. He carefully rolled onto his back, so as not to wake her when she spoke so softly, he had to strain to hear her over the sighs and snores of the people around them.

'I dinna ken. I knew before. And now…' Jack felt a tremor run through her body. 'I dinna ken.'

* * *

Minerva didn't know what to expect when she met Elizabeth Bowes-Lyons – Her Majesty the Queen.

She'd seen photographs, of course, but rarely ever spared a thought for any member of the royal family. They didn't figure prominently in the magical world.

She wasn't expecting slightly plump, small woman with a somewhat cheeky smile. Someone poked Minerva in the back. Flushing with embarrassment, Minerva dropped a quick, belated curtsy. 'Ma'am,' she mumbled.

'Actually, it's "Your Majesty" first,  _ then _ "ma'am",' the Queen corrected with a wry smile that took the sting from her words. She studied Minerva for a moment and her smile broadened. 'So you're the one Mr. Churchill was adamant about sending to us for protection.'

'Yes, ma'am.' Minerva waited expectantly for the Queen to say something else.

Queen Elizabeth eyed Minerva for a moment. 'I'm afraid Mr. Churchill was not able to inform me of your name.'

'Minerva, ma'am. Minerva McGonagall.'

'You're not from London.'

Minerva shook her head. 'No, ma'am. I was born near Fort William.'

'Ah! A fellow Scot. Minerva's an interesting name. And quite appropriate given the circumstances.' The Queen perched on a chair behind a massive desk. 'You'll meet Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret at Windsor later. They shall be thrilled to have a young girl there. I was given to understand that you're nearly their age.'

'I'm eighteen, ma'am.'

'So young.'

'I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I very much doubt German bombs care how old their victims are.'

'Very well put.' Queen Elizabeth motioned for Minerva to sit in a chair across the desk. 'We have quite a busy schedule this week.' A tall man ambled into the Queen's office. 'Hello, Bertie,' she said in obvious delight. A sly smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. 'Allow me to make introductions.' Minerva rose, her hands folded in front of her. 'Bertie, this is Minerva McGonagall. She's from Mr. Churchill's special office. Apparently, he feels we need more protection than the MI-5 can provide.' Her eyes twinkled with mirth.

Minerva dropped into another curtsy. 'Your Majesty.'

Queen Elizabeth slid a hand into the crook of the King's elbow. 'Miss McGonagall, may I present His Majesty King George VI.'

The King hesitated for a long moment. His lips pursed several times. 'P-pleasure to m-m-m-meet you, Miss McGonagall.'

'Likewise, sir,' Minerva said, looking up at him from under lowered eyelashes. His face was arranged in kind, yet determined lines. He nodded once, and continued on his way, leaving Minerva to ponder how this shy, reticent man managed to embody the spirit of the English people.

* * *

If Minerva thought Windsor would be a refuge from the claustrophobia of Chancery Lane, she was wrong. Windsor might have been several miles away from London, and a palace, but the windows were either blacked out or boarded over, contributing to the sense of oppression she had experienced in the city.

Edward Hawley, the wizard overseeing the handful of witches and wizards who quietly safeguarded the royal family, Prime Minister, and other key members of the British government, huddled with her in a small room in Windsor, his wand lit and held aloft over a small piece of parchment. 'You'll spend two days here, and two days back at the house, then come back.' He glanced at her apologetically. 'I am sorry you have to share your quarters with the Yanks, but it was the best we could do at the time.'

'They're fine.' Minerva fingered the edge of the parchment, inexplicably annoyed at Hawley's assumption it was a hardship to stay with the boys. 'So I'm to follow the queen and only the queen?'

'Yes. We can explain you as some sort of secretary. There's an older witch with the Princesses. Publicly, she's their tutor.' Hawley paused. 'The royal living quarters are charmed. We're doing the best we can at Buckingham, but it's just so bloody big. Their Majesties' offices are, of course, charmed as well.

'Of course.'

'If you must perform magic, for God's sake, try not to be seen. And only in case of the most dire emergency,' Edward ordered sternly.

'Understood.'

'You'll sleep in the room at the end of the corridor. I'll give you the rest of the tour tomorrow. Get some sleep.'

* * *

Minerva quickly ate her breakfast and took up a post outside the dining room. She felt her brows rise in astonishment. The royal family ate no better than she and boys did in west London – even they were subject to the rationing that gripped the rest of the country. They talked and laughed like any other normal family. Occasionally, the King paused and stumbled over a word here and there. The Queen often touched his hand or arm, gifting him with rosy smiles obviously meant only for him. Minerva looked away quickly, feeling as if she were intruding on a private moment.

Presently, the Queen strode out of the dining room, adjusting the gloves on her hands. Minerva eyed the older woman's frock appraisingly. Her innate sense of Scottish thrift nearly gasped aloud at how much such a fine dress would have cost. The Queen paused in front of a mirror to don a matching hat. She looked at Minerva's reflection. 'Yes, I know. It is a bit much. However, every child in that orphanage will have been scrubbed within an inch of their lives. The very least I can do is return the favor.'

'Of course, Your Majesty.'

Queen Elizabeth chuckled lightly. 'Come on, Miss McGonagall. Let's go and cheer up some orphans.'

* * *

Minerva hung back and watched as dozens of painfully neat children stood in a line. The little girls bobbed in dainty curtsies, while the boys did their best imitations of a courtly bow, their small faces a study in earnest solemnity. Queen Elizabeth graciously accepted the girls' offered bouquets, scraggly as they were, and said a few kind words of thanks, touching the child's cheek with gentle fingers. The babies she cuddled, tickling their rounded chins, patiently unwinding curious fingers from the customary strand of pearls. Minerva was taken aback by the reactions of everyone from the matrons to the babes in arms. They seemed to adore the Queen.

She didn't remember much of British Muggle history, but she did recall British monarchs were mostly figureheads. Symbols. But even Minerva knew how powerful a mere symbol could be. The queen didn't have to traipse about England, visiting orphanages and wounded soldiers and sailors. She could have taken her daughters and fled to Canada, to safety. But no. She chose to stay and experience the fear that insidiously crept into their souls alongside her countrymen and women. And somehow, Queen Elizabeth found the courage to smile in the face of fear.

It was an image that would prove to linger in Minerva's mind.

* * *

'I need ye to show me how to do that trick wi' my wand.' Minerva stood over the sofa, where Jack sprawled with a newspaper.

Jack sat up, messily folding the paper in half. 'What? Now?'

'No. When the bloody war's over. Of course now,' Minerva snapped.

Jack rubbed his hands over his face. 'After dinner,' he promised. 'We'll get started.' He pushed himself to his feet. 'When do you go back to Buckingham?'

'Friday morning.'

'I suppose it'll give you something to work on while you're there.'

'What is that supposed to mean, precisely?' Minerva seethed. 'That it isna somethin' I can learn because I'm dimwitted?'

'Because it's hard,' Jack retorted stiffly. 'If it was easy, everyone could do it.'

* * *

Jack closed the door of the sitting room, and motioned for Minerva to sit in one of the straight-backed chairs. 'Right or left handed?' he asked.

'Right.'

Jack sat in the other chair and began unfasten the cuffs of his shirt, carefully working the buttons through the buttonholes, then rolled up his sleeves. He slid his wand from a vivid scarlet leather holster strapped to his forearm. 'Made from the hide of a Chinese Fireball,' he told her as he unbuckled the small golden buckles. 'Gift from my parents when I completed the Auror training.'

'It's verra nice,' Minerva murmured politely.

'Roll up your sleeves,' Jack ordered.

'Why?'

'Do you want to learn how to do this or not?' Jack sighed. 'I'm really not in the mood to argue with you all night.'

Minerva's lips pressed together in a thin line. She fumbled with the buttons on the sleeve of her shirt, fingertips slipping and sliding over the small, slick button. She managed to push them through the buttonholes and folded the cuff back, pushing the sleeve up. Jack leaned forward and bound the straps of the holster to her arm. Minerva jerked her arm away. 'I can do that,' she muttered.

'Did anyone ever tell you that you're stubborn?' Jack asked conversationally.

'All the time,' Minerva replied evenly.

'Can I see your wand?'

'Why d'ye need t' see my wand?'

Jack huffed impatiently. 'Listen… This isn't going to get very far if you question every damn thing I try to do. Out of the two of us, I'm the only one that knows what to do. So, you can let me get things set up  _ properly _ , or I'm going to get up, go up to my bedroom, and get some sleep. Your choice.' Minerva tapped her fingers on her knee, then slowly held her wand out to Jack. He took it with an admiring hum. 'Nice. Where'd you get it?'

'Diagon Alley. At Ollivander's.'

'This is fantastic craftsmanship,' Jack murmured. 'Maybe we can go have a look at his place when we get some time…' He wrapped a hand around her wrist, and extended her arm, until it was nearly straight. Jack twirled Minerva's wand in his fingers until the handle pointed toward her shoulder and slipped it into the small loops of the holster. The tip of the wand rested just inside her wrist.

'I dinna snap my fingers verra well,' Minerva blurted.

'What does that have to do with the price of tea in China?' Jack chuckled, strangely pleased that she would admit what must have felt like a personal failing.

'In the Underground, when ye did this, ye snapped your fingers…'

'Just a flourish.' Jack snagged a cushion from the sofa and tossed it across the room. 'Let's try a Summoning charm first.'

'Oh, gie me summat hard, aye?'

'Do you ever notice the more emotional you get, the stronger your accent gets?'

'I dinna hae an accent.'

'Yeah, sure. And Eleanor Roosevelt and I are chums. Just try Summoning that pillow, okay?'

Minerva snorted and threw her arm out. Dark blue sparks shot from the tip and blasted a layer of wallpaper from the wall. She blinked. 'Bloody hell.'

Jack leaned forward. 'I wondered if anything was under that ugly floral paper. That's even worse,' he pronounced, shuddering at the lurid striped wallpaper. 'You can't really do any moves, like when you're casting a spell the regular way. You have to think about the wand movement, almost like doing nonverbal magic.'

'I can do nonverbal magic,' Minerva protested.

'This isn't nonverbal magic, sweetheart.' Jack moved his chair to sit behind Minerva's. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders. Instantaneously, her shoulders rose in a defensive posture. 'Relax,' he told her softly.

Minerva's shoulders tensed. 'I am relaxed,' she countered.

'As relaxed as a plank of wood.' Jack's fingers glided over the slope of the ridged muscle from the base of her neck to the edge of her shoulders. The fingers swept across her back once more, searching for something. He found the spot he wanted, and began to apply pressure with his thumbs. 'Just breathe,' he murmured soothingly.

Minerva huffed impatiently, feeling the muscles in her shoulders tighten slightly under Jack's ministrations. 'I am breathin',' she muttered resentfully.

Jack's hands unfurled to rest softly over Minerva's shoulder blades. 'Jesus, you need to relax. You won't be able to master this if you're so stiff I could bounce a quarter off your back.' He pressed his hands lightly to her back. 'Take a  _ deep _ breath. In-two-three-four,' he instructed softly. 'Out-two-three-four… Close your eyes… Keep breathing,' he chanted quietly. Minerva dutifully closed her eyes inhaled and exhaled according to Jack's murmurs. Her chin fell forward a little and her shoulders dropped a little, then a little more. His hands slipped to her neck, massaging the ridged muscles, then slowly moved to her shoulders, then back. There was nothing remotely sexual about Jack's actions, but it still felt remarkably intimate to Minerva. It was mildly disconcerting. Jack's hands slid slowly up to her shoulders, resting weightlessly on them. He leaned forward until his mouth was just behind her ear. 'Try it again.'

Keeping her eyes closed, Minerva let her arm float up, until her hand was nearly shoulder-height, picturing the wand movements in her head. Taking one more deep breath, she let her eyes open a little, then whispered, ' _ Accio _ …'

The pillow moved forward a bare foot. She grinned with ill-disguised glee.

'Good job,' Jack said approvingly. 'It took me weeks to get pack of cards to move more than a few inches.' He patted Minerva on the back. 'Do it again.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did as much research as I could into the life of the Queen Mum and what she did during the war. I hope I was able to capture her, even a little bit.
> 
> I have no idea what the royal family's daily routine was like, and I've probably taken a few liberties. I hope you don't mind. But the impression I got from my research was that King George VI and Queen Elizabeth were probably somewhat hands-on as parents. Apologies if I'm totally off-base, and if I am, please feel free to PM me and let me know, along with suggestions about how to portray them.


	4. Home for Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack bent his head, fully intending to merely brush his lips over hers. But her mouth opened under his, and he could taste the earthy, peaty tones of the whisky she'd drunk on her lips and tongue. He deepened the kiss just a little, waiting for her to respond. And she did. The pressure against his mouth increased and he could feel her breath misting over his cheek. Her tongue danced slowly with his, bringing forth a muted groan in the back of his throat. It was nearly inaudible, but it was enough to break the moment. They were still standing in the same pose as when the kiss had started. Jack's hands were still inside his pockets, and hers behind her back. It had only been the butterfly-light touch of lips and tongue that comprised their contact with one another.

Snow fell thickly over London. Tony sat near a window, his nose pressed to the glass, gazing out at it in wonder. 'It doesn't  _ do _ that in San Antonio,' he breathed over and over.

'You'd better go on and put that blackout curtain back over the window,' Reggie told him. 'It's gettin' dark.'

Reluctantly, Tony pushed the curtain back into place, making sure that not even the smallest crack was left to allow light to be seen outside. 'It's Christmas in two more days,' he announced.'

'Worried Santa won't be able to find you in the blackout?' Jack teased.

'Yes,' Tony deadpanned. 'I'm afraid that when I wake up Christmas morning, that shiny red bicycle I asked for from Santa won't be under the tree.'

'We ought to go somewhere,' Jack suggested.

'Where?' Frankie sat up from his position on the sofa. 'Too bad it can't be Paris…'

'Next year,' Jack promised. 'Just out of London. Head over to Ireland or up to Scotland. See something else, besides London and the Underground.'

Frankie scratched his head, considering. 'I hear Dublin's got some good pubs.'

Tony paced the sitting room restlessly. 'Does Minerva have a pass for the holiday, too?'

Jack shrugged. 'I don't know.' He looked up at Tony. 'When do you have to report back to the PIR?'

'Twenty-seventh.' Tony smiled crookedly. 'I almost wish I'd gone through Toccoa with 'em. You hear those guys talk about running up Currahee, and you know they're not going to accept me like this. We haven't even gone into a fight, and I'm no better than a replacement.'

'At least you get to go,' Reggie muttered.

'You could go,' Tony reminded him.

'I ain't goin' as nobody's mess hall attendant,' Reggie snarled. 'And you all know damn well that's they only way I'd get to fight.' He was right. Integrated combat units were still a vision of the future, but as part of the United States Army, they had all gone through basic training. The drill sergeant had been most reluctant to include Reggie, and had to be convinced they were part of an elite operations squad. They, and their compatriots serving in other areas, were officially part of the army, but not assigned to a specific battalion or regiment, and would be sent where they were needed most. Their particular skill sets demanded officer commissions. Still, the sergeant drove them as hard as the enlisted infantrymen. It had been a point of pride for the sergeant that each one them could not only take a rifle apart in total darkness, but reassemble it without making a great deal of noise, then march thirty miles in full gear. Not that they needed it in London, but Tony and Frankie were to begin training with the infantry divisions that were slated to invade France in the new year. When that was supposed to happen was anybody's guess.

Frankie peered at Reggie over the top of the sofa. 'If Eisenhower or Patton says to you, that you're goin' into France, Belgium, or Holland, then you're goin'. Same as the rest of us.'

'You think Hitler takes Christmas off?' Tony asked idly. 'Leaves out milk and cookies for Santa? Sends a letter to Santa that asks for England to fall?'

'If he does, he's been a verra bad boy this year,' Minerva's tired voice came from the doorway. She dropped her bag to the floor and stumbled to the fireplace, holding her hands out to the dancing flames. 'It's bluidy cold out there, and there isna much in the way of fuel for the fires at Windsor.'

Jack jabbed his wand at the fire, and the flickering bluebell hued flames doubled. 'Poor Minerva,' he murmured sympathetically. 'Had to put Warming charms on your underthings, did you?'

She regarded him seriously for a moment. 'Aye. I did. But they didna last the entire day, and I wasna in a position to recast it.'

Jack blinked. 'I was only teasing.'

Minerva's mouth quirked upward. 'I wasna.'

'Did the Tommies give you leave for the holidays?' Jack asked.

Minerva nodded. 'Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I'm back to Windsor on Boxing Day.'

'What are ya goin' to do?' Minerva looked at Frankie and shrugged. 'When was the last time ya went home?'

'Just last Christmas.' Turning away from the fire, she hooked a hand around the back of a nearby chair and drew it closer, sitting down with a weary sigh. 'When was the last time you were at home?'

'January nineteen forty-two,' Frankie replied promptly.

'That's the last time any of us saw home,' Reggie interjected.

'Come to Scotland wi' me.' The invitation slipped from Minerva's lips before she could examine her motives. 'I canna promise there will be much in the way of holiday cheer, but my da and I can put up a feast of sorts.' The air-raid sirens began to wail. Minerva grimaced and snatched up her bag. 'I can guarantee it will be quiet,' she said over the relentless warning.

Jack hoisted his knapsack over one shoulder. 'I'm in,' he shouted, as they filed out of the house and joined the quickly moving throng of people filing into the Underground.

'Us, too!' Frankie barreled past them, fingers jammed into his ears. 'When do we leave?'

'After breakfast.'

Outside the Chancery Lane station, Jack paused staring up at the clouded skies, waiting, holding his breath. Waiting for the airplanes painted with the white-and-black cross of the Luftwaffe to plunge from the blanket of grey clouds to spread death and destruction amid the falling snow. 'If there is a morning,' he muttered under his breath. None but Minerva heard him. She said nothing, but looked at him strangely before following Tony down the stairs.

* * *

The grey-harled house nestled amongst the crags near Fort William, snow piled against the walls. It would have been picturesque, if it weren't for the charms that blacked out the windows, making them look like gaping holes in the walls. Jack put a hand on Minerva's arm. 'Does your father know you're coming, with all of us in tow?'

Minerva shrugged. 'Doesna matter. He'll welcome ye.'

'Against his will?' Jack shot back.

Minerva's lips pursed impatiently. 'Hospitality. It's a tradition.'

'If you say so,' Jack muttered doubtfully, certain Angus McGonagall was going to make life unpleasant for them. He followed in Minerva's wake as she marched to the door, casually flicking her wand at it. It opened wide, and she sailed inside, gesturing for the four befuddled soldiers to come into the house. They found Angus holding Minerva at arm's length, examining her closely.

' _ Ciamar a tha thu, a nighean? _ '

' _ Tha mi gle mhath _ , Da.'

'Ye look tired. And too thin.'

'I am all right.'

Tony closed the door behind the group of nervous boys. Angus glanced at them. 'Minerva tells me ye'll be stayin' here for the holiday,' he stated.

'Yes… Yes, sir,' Jack replied with more confidence than he felt.

'Twill be a quiet night, ye ken.'

'We'll take the quiet,' Tony volunteered hastily.

Angus studied the quartet clustered just inside the door. 'Come, then. I'll show ye where ye'll sleep tonight.' He paused at the base of the stairs. 'One of ye will need t' sleep in th' sittin' room.'

'I'll do it,' Jack said, giving the other three a quelling look. If anyone was going to deal with any discomfort the next two days, it would be him.

'I'll bring ye some beddin' down later,' Angus said, then gestured for Frankie, Tony, and Reggie to accompany him up the steep, narrow stairs.

Minerva removed her cloak with a slight swirl and hung it on a hook near the door. 'I hope ye dinna mean to sleep on the sofa,' she said. 'It's murder on ye're back, aye?' She rolled the "r" in murder, comically drawing out the word.

Jack shivered a little. It was much colder in Scotland than it was in London. 'I don't suppose there's coffee anywhere.'

'Ye didna bring any?'

Jack stared at her in disbelief. 'Why would I?'

'Da has tea.'

'Tea?' Jack wrinkled his nose dubiously.

'Ye willna find coffee in this house. Da doesna care for it.

'I guess we're drinking tea, then,' Jack sighed in resignation. Not that they had much coffee to begin with, but they managed to stretch out their ration, only resorting to magic to make the brew strong enough to strip paint from the walls.

'I'll just go put the kettle on, aye?'

Jack doffed his heavy wool overcoat, and hung it on a hook next to Minerva's cloak. 'So what does Christmas look like in the McGonagall house?'

'Endless rounds o' chess wi' Da's prized set,' she replied promptly. 'They got rather more interestin' in the last couple o' years when he started allowin' me to have a wee dram wi' him while we played.'

Aware of how much she was capable of drinking, Jack eyed her. 'What's a "wee dram" in your world?'

'Och, weel, depends on th' length o' th' game, aye?' Minerva told him, deliberately broadening her accent.

'Your dad play as well as you do?'

Minerva smiled enigmatically. 'Who do ye think taught me?'

* * *

Angus opened the case containing his chess set with a small flourish. Reggie leaned closer to study it, picking up a king, holding it to the light. 'The English army?'

Angus plucked it from Reggie's fingers. 'The Duke o' Cumberland. The "Butcher".' He set it on the board.

Reggie nodded. He adored history, both magical and Muggle. 'Culloden.'

'Aye.' Angus quickly set the rest of the pieces, clad in the uniforms of the English army, circa seventeen forty-six. 'His mum, Queen Caroline, Archbishop of Canterbury, officers of the Honeywood's Regiment of Dragoons, the White Tower, infantry…' He drew back a small piece of velvet. 'Prince Charlie, Lady Anne Farquharson-MacKintosh, Archbishop of Glasgow, Sir John MacDonald and Captain O'Shea of Fitzjames' Horse, King James Tower, and members of Cameron of Lochiel's regiment.'

'It's a magnificent set,' Jack said.

Angus swiveled the board around so the English army figures were nearest to Jack. 'Care to play?'

Jack held his hands up surrender. 'I've had the pleasure of being thrashed by Minerva. She tells me you taught her, so I think I'd prefer to save myself the humiliation.'

Angus made a sound deep in his throat. It was at once dismissive and disapproving. 'Minerva, lass?' he offered.

Minerva raised the glass at her elbow to her lips and sipped the amber-hued whisky inside. 'Aye. I believe I shall.'

The boys watched in rapture as Minerva and Angus directed their pieces around the board. One of Angus' pawns captured Minerva's in the first few moves. It was unlike anything they had seen before. The Highland figure drew a large sword from the sheath slung across his back, the massive hilt gripped in both hands. He swung it around in a wide arc, then brought it down on the unfortunate English infantryman, nearly cleaving his torso in half. 'Jesus H. Christ,' Jack breathed in horrified awe. Wizard's chess was rather violent with an ordinary set, but this was far beyond anything he'd ever seen.

For the next several hours, Minerva battled her father in game after game of chess. The rapt fascination from Jack, Reggie, Tony, and Frankie never waned. They cheered when she won, and groaned when she lost. The clock in the sitting room began to chime, and Minerva's head nodded slightly in time with it, counting the sounds. It was midnight. She studied the board, wrinkling her nose to push her glasses up, then nudged her queen into position, and triumphantly retrieved her glass of whisky, taking a sip and rolling the liquid on her tongue before allowing it to slide down her throat, warming her insides. 'Checkmate, Da.'

Angus stared at the board. 'Ye feisty wee minx,' he exclaimed. His long arm reached back to the dresser and snagged the bottle of whisky. He poured more into his glass, then refilled Minerva's and held out his glass. ' _ Slàinte mhath _ .'

Minerva raised her glass in a toast. ' _ Do dheagh shlàinte _ .' She tossed the whisky back and set the glass on the table with a reverberating  _ thump _ . 'Happy Christmas to ye.' Warmed by the whisky and the victory, she let herself smile widely and sat back in the chair.

'And to ye as well,  _ a nighean _ .' Angus waved his wand over the table, and the chess set neatly packed itself into its box. 'Ye played well.'

'Thank ye, Da.'

'Best get to bed, aye?'

Tony gathered the empty glasses and crumb-strewn plates into a stack with his wand and set them to wash. 'That was amazing,' he said to Angus. 'I've never seen anyone play chess like that before. I've also never seen a wizard's chess set go at it like that, either.'

''Tis for pride, lad.' Angus preened a little. 'I'll bid ye good night,' he said to the room, then disappeared up the stairs, with surprising silence for a man his size.

Jack glanced at Minerva, still sprawled in her chair, grinning with smug satisfaction, wisps of hair falling in ripples around her face. Casually, he got to his feet, and sought refuge in the darkened doorway where he could lean against the doorframe and gaze at her as inconspicuously as possible. Minerva wasn't pretty in the usual sense of the word. Some might call her too tall, too thin, too angular. Pretty girls in Jack's experience didn't wear round wire-rimmed glasses that made them look owlish. They had pouty lips that begged to be kissed, not lips that seemed continually pressed into a tense line. Perhaps it was only the whisky talking. Ordinarily, he would not have allowed himself to think about Minerva in that way. Jack glared at Tony, subtlety motioning with his head toward the stairs. 'What?' Tony asked blankly. Jack's eyes widened, and they pointedly moved from Tony to the darkened stairs. 'Oh, right… Yeah. C'mon y'all. Let's get some shut-eye.' He nudged Reggie and Frankie from their chairs and shoved them none-too-gently toward the stairs. Reggie let Tony and Frankie precede him upstairs. He used his elbow to lightly jab Jack.

Keeping his face turned away from Minerva, Reggie whispered, 'Don't do something you're going to regret or that's going to screw anything up.' Jack gave Reggie a questioning look. 'I've been watchin' you all damn night. Sit next to her at dinner, during the chess games. You couldn't stop lookin'. And I dunno if it's 'cause you can't have her. No fraternization.'

Jack's eyes closed in defeat. 'Fine…'

'That's an order, soldier,' Reggie hissed.

Jack's eyes snapped open, and he tossed Reggie a withering stare designed to let Reggie know he'd overstepped his bounds. Even if he was utterly fascinated by Minerva, Jack was still the ranking officer. 'I'm going to bed,' he insisted. 'And you should, too.' He pushed Reggie up the first few risers.

Minerva yawned once more and stretched her arms over her head. 'I ought to go to bed myself.' She pushed herself steadily to her feet. 'I imagine it shall be quite a treat to not worry about air-raid sirens all night.' She edged around the table to where Jack stood in the doorway between the kitchen and staircase. 'I hope you enjoyed watchin' Da and me indulge. We dinna hae the chance as often as we'd like.'

'I did.' Jack stepped back and slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers to allow Minerva to move past him to the stairs when she stopped and frowned at something over their heads. He followed her gaze to a small dark green sprig, dotted with tiny white berries. 'Mistletoe.' He grinned impudently at her. 'I guess I'll have to kiss you.'

Her eyes twinkled and she clasped her hands behind her back. With mirth or whisky, Jack didn't know. 'Weel, it's tradition, ye ken.'

'Well. If it's tradition.' Jack bent his head, fully intending to merely brush his lips over hers. But her mouth opened under his, and he could taste the earthy, peaty tones of the whisky she'd drunk on her lips and tongue. He deepened the kiss just a little, waiting for her to respond. And she did. The pressure against his mouth increased and he could feel her breath misting over his cheek. Her tongue danced slowly with his, bringing forth a muted groan in the back of his throat. It was nearly inaudible, but it was enough to break the moment. They were still standing in the same pose as when the kiss had started. Jack's hands were still inside his pockets, and hers behind her back. It had only been the butterfly-light touch of lips and tongue that comprised their contact with one another.

Minerva's eyes were round, her face ashen.

Jack lifted a hand to brush the tendrils of hair from her eyes. She stepped back, her left hand covering her mouth in a gesture of dismay. 'I… I…' Minerva stammered.

He took a small step toward her, but the lamplight glinting on the silver ring she wore on her left hand caught his attention. Rubbing his fingers over his mouth in an attempt to erase the tingling sensation in them, Jack pivoted on one heel, and grabbed his overcoat. He strode out of the door and charged into the drifts of snow.

'Damned if I kiss her while she's thinking of him,' he growled softly.

* * *

The snow blanketed the valley, softening the hard edges of the granite crags surrounding the cemetery tucked amongst towering trees. Minerva used her wand to break a path through the snowdrifts that came up to her knees. It was quiet in the valley. The snow seemed to muffle everything, except for the squeak of the packed snow under her shoes. The fence guarding the inhabitants of the cemetery was little more than irregular poles lashed together with squat stone pillars spaced at semi-regular intervals around the perimeter. She strode through the small opening between the pilings, heading for her mother's grave. She stopped short at the sight of a small, white stone next to Flora's bearing Alasdair's name, with the dates of his birth and death underneath. A leaden weight burned in the pit of her stomach. Shame, perhaps.

Minerva turned away from the newer grave for her mother's. She carefully traced her wand through the air and several thistles twined together and drifted down to drape over the stone, obscuring her mother's name. As she did each time she came to the cemetery, Minerva folded herself down to the ground, chin resting on her knees. She missed her mother dreadfully in times like these. She never could talk to her father about such emotional matters. Minerva couldn't even imagine what her mother would have said. Possibly it was why she normally kept people at arm's length. They were too unpredictable. She couldn't quite explain why she'd become so attached to the boys. Maybe it was the passing nature of their relationship. When the war ended, they would return home to America, and it was highly unlikely she'd ever see them again.

She ran a mittened hand under her nose, sniffling. The cold made it run. Or at least that's what she told herself. Steeling herself, Minerva turned at last to the new headstone, letting herself wonder who had placed it there. 'I thought I'd find ye here,' Angus rumbled from the gate.

'That isna a difficult conclusion, aye?' Minerva glanced over her shoulder.

'Why did ye no' wait for me?'

'I needed to be alone.'

'I had the stone set for ye.'

'Thank you.' Unconsciously, Minerva began to twist the claddagh ring around her finger.

Angus crouched next to her in the snow. 'I've seen th' way Captain Hashimoto looks at ye, lass.'

'Not now, Da…'

'Did ye think he would want ye to remain alone in the wide world?' Angus continued ruthlessly. 'Ye hae a life ahead o' ye, Minerva. Nothing says ye hae to stop your life.'

'I didna stop my life.'

Angus' mouth clamped shut. He was making a mess of the conversation. Discussing matters of the heart was not his specialty. 'I want ye to be happy,  _ a nighean _ .'

Minerva's head swiveled to face her father. 'And that includes a husband and bairns?' she asked icily.

'Only if ye want. Whatever ye decide, Minerva, I want it to be want  _ you _ want, and not some sense o' obligation.'

She rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. 'It feels like betrayal.'

'That's takin' it a bit far, no?' Angus couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice.

'Then why didn't you ever remarry after Mam died?' Minerva challenged, stiff indignation dripping from each syllable.

Angus straightened, brushing snow from his trousers. 'I dinna want ye to emulate my failings, Minerva.' He traced his own wand in the air, leaving a sheaf of wild roses over Flora's gave. 'I pushed too many people away after your mother died. I tried t' tell myself I had you t' raise and didna hae time for it.' He stooped and cupped Minerva's chin in one large palm, forcing her to look at him. 'I'm no' blamin' ye,' he told her firmly. 'Your mam wasna scairt o' me. I didna think there was another woman like her, so I didna try to look. That isna the life ye ought t' have. Ye deserve better.'

The wind rose, picking up tendrils of Minerva's hair, teasing them from their pins. 'There's a war on, Da,' she said dully. 'Mayhap not our war, but we stand to lose what we have. That's what is important now, aye? Nothing else.' She turned her gaze back to Alasdair's headstone, signaling clearly their conversation was over.

* * *

Tony walked into the warm kitchen, adjusting his tie. Jack sat at the table, frowning into a mug of tea. 'You feeling all right?'

'Why wouldn't I be?' Jack all but snarled.

'Tea?' Tony hooked a finger inside the handle of Jack's mug, making it spin around once.

'It's hot, wet, and brown,' Jack sighed gustily. 'And more importantly, it has caffeine. Didn't sleep much.'

'Did you forget to put a Cushioning charm on the floor or the sofa?'

Jack's shoulders hunched inward. 'Uh. Yeah.' If that's what Tony wanted to believe, then he'd let him. He lifted the mug. 'Want some?'

'Sure. Why the hell not? Like you said, it's hot.'

Firm knocks sounded on the thick door. 'Were you expecting anyone?' Jack asked Tony.

'I thought I'd ask  _ Abuelita _ to come make  _ huevos rancheros _ after we opened presents,' Tony said dryly pouring tea into a waiting mug.

'Funny.' Jack opened the door, revealing a tall wizard, clad in resplendent midnight-blue robes, embroidered with tiny silver stars. Long auburn hair was bound loosely back, and an equally long auburn beard was twined with silver cord with a miniscule bell tinkling on the cord. 'I don't think it's your grandmother, Tony,' Jack said over his shoulder.

'I was looking for Minerva McGonagall.'

Jack gestured toward a copse of trees. 'She's out there.'

'I see.' The wizard looked at Jack over the rims of a pair of half-moon glasses. 'Might I inquire if Angus McGonagall is inside at present?'

Jack propped a shoulder against the doorframe. 'He's with her.'

'Perhaps I could wait inside.'

'Who are you?'

'Albus Dumbledore. I'm the Transfiguration professor at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I've been tasked with instructing Minerva to undertake a course of study.' Jack studied the wizard, gaze sweeping up from the toes of Dumbledore's boots to the top of his head, then stepped aside.

When Minerva and Angus returned to the house, Jack, Tony, Frankie and Reggie sat clustered on one end of the table, eying Dumbledore suspiciously. 'Professor Dumbledore,' Minerva stammered.

'Miss McGonagall. I trust you're enjoying your holiday.'

'I am, sir.' Reggie stifled a snicker at the sudden turn of Minerva's accent into something that more closely resembled the king's cadence he had heard on the wireless than her own.

Dumbledore turned his hand over and a stack of slim books sat in balanced in his palm, impressing even Jack. 'The Minister asked me to bring these to you.' He set them on the table, and made a small motion with his fingers, the books sliding across the table of their own accord.

Curiously, Minerva picked up the uppermost book. 'Animagus theories?'

'In your current line of employ, the Minister feels it would be prudent for you to try and learn how to become an Animagus. Should you succeed, you'll have to register, with the Ministry, of course.'

'Am I the only one?'

'The only I think would be successful.' Dumbledore allowed a small smile to grace his features. 'Even I have not yet managed to bring the process to its conclusion. A conundrum for which I have many hypotheses,' he told her blandly.

'Very well.' Minerva swept the pile of books from the table. 'Have I a set time frame?'

'The end of May.'

'That's only five months!' Minerva protested.

With a nod toward the opposite end of the table, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in Minerva's direction. 'I believe you will have ready assistance in your endeavor.' He rose smoothly to his feet. 'The end of May, Miss McGonagall.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ciamar a tha thu, a nighean? – How are you, my darling?
> 
> Tha mi gle mhath – I am well.
> 
> Slàinte mhath – to your health
> 
> Do dheagh shlàinte – to your health as well
> 
> Abuelita – grandmother
> 
> Huevos rancheros - fried eggs, served on corn tortillas, and topped with a cooked salsa; very yummy if you can cook it or find a good Mexican restaurant that makes it.


	5. Homefront

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony tapped the bottles with his wand, chilling the liquid inside, then handed one to Jack. 'So nothing happened in Scotland with Minnie, huh?'
> 
> Jack paused with his beer halfway to his lips. 'For the eight hundredth time, Tony, nothing happened…' he sighed resignedly.
> 
> 'Okay…'
> 
> 'What were you doing in her bedroom, anyway?' Jack blurted, suspicion coloring his inquiry.
> 
> 'I thought you didn't care,' Tony said blandly.
> 
> 'I don't.'
> 
> Tony leaned against the kitchen counter. 'Well, in that case, I fed her the line about not wanting to die a virgin, and we made passionate love on the eve of my heading off to battle.'
> 
> Jack's face flushed with nascent anger, before he realized the utter ridiculousness of Tony's statement. Tony hadn't been in Minerva's room for more than a few minutes. 'Not funny.'

Tony held an envelope loosely in his hand, staring at Minerva's bedroom door. His feet shuffled uneasily on the landing. _ Oh, get a grip _ , he thought to himself. _ You're about to learn how to jump out of a perfectly safe airplane and you're scared to approach an eighteen year-old witch… _ He took the necessary steps to stand in front of the door and knocked firmly. Minerva opened the door a little, peering through the small gap. 'Aye? Is there somethin' ye needed?'

'Could I talk to you for a moment? Privately?' Tony asked.

'Of course…' Minerva stepped back and gestured for Tony to enter the room.

'I'm sorry for disturbing you,' Tony mumbled. 'I know you just came off duty from Windsor…'

'It's quite all right.' Minerva motioned for Tony to sit on the straight-backed chair by the door. 'Please. Sit.'

Tony gingerly sat on the edge of the chair. 'I was wondering if you could do something for me…?'

'I could try.'

Tony held out the letter. 'In case something happens to me, could you get this to my parents?' Minerva eased it from his fingers, cradling it between her palms. 'I mean, the Army will send them something official. Or the American Ministry will. Either way, I want this one to get to them.'

'Dinna be ridiculous,' Minerva tried to scoff, but her voice cracked a little. 'Naught will happen to ye.'

Tony laughed hollowly. 'That's what I like to try and tell myself. But chances are pretty good I'll end up with a serious case of dead. And I'd rather have that letter written and have to burn it when the war's over, than get shot somewhere in France or Holland and die without saying what I said in it.'

'Shouldn't Jack handle this?'

Tony waved off her concerns. 'Jack'll have his hands full. I don't want to bother him.'

'I'll see to it your parents receive this,' Minerva promised.

Tony's smile lit the dim room. 'Thanks.' He started to stand but sank back down. 'Did you and Jack have a fight or something?'

'Dinna be ridiculous,' Minerva retorted tartly.

'The last couple of weeks, when you're here, when you come into a room, he leaves.' Tony shrugged. 'But if you say nothing's wrong…'

'There isna,' Minerva insisted.

'Okay.' Tony did stand then, and opened the door. 'Thanks again, Min.' He surprised himself and her by leaning over and giving her a quick, brotherly kiss on the cheek. He ran headlong into Jack on the landing. 'Whatever you did, apologize,' Tony ordered.

'I didn't do anything,' Jack corrected coldly.

Tony shook his head and headed down the stairs. 'She's the only girl we know that will stand up to you. And she's a match for you intellectually. Don't know many witches like that back home.' He stopped on the bottom step and looked back at Jack. 'When the two of you get married, name your firstborn son after me, won't you? Just something to remember me by, hmm?'

Jack trailed after Tony. 'Why do you keep talking like you're going to die?' he demanded.

'Just trying to be prepared.'

'And I'm not marrying her,' Jack huffed.

'Why not? She's a peach.'

'You're insane.'

'Yeah, that jumping out of planes idea isn't very sane, is it?'

'Goddammit, Tony!'

Tony gazed at Jack somberly. 'Look, in a few weeks, Frankie and me'll be assigned to our regiments permanently, and it'll be just you, Reg, and Minnie in the house. And Reggie and Minnie don't get along really well unless you play referee. And if you and Minnie are on the outs, then it's gonna be a damn long war for her. She'll be lonely.'

'So?'

'So. If it was my sister, I'd want someone to look after her. And I'll bet you'd want the same thing.'

Jack gawked at Tony for several moments. He didn't in any way, shape, or form think of Minerva as a sister. And that was the problem. But he managed to choke, 'Yeah… sure…'

Tony rummaged through the cupboard and unearthed two bottles of beer he'd managed to acquire from the PX. 'Want one?'

'Yeah.'

Tony tapped the bottles with his wand, chilling the liquid inside, then handed one to Jack. 'So nothing happened in Scotland with Minnie, huh?'

Jack paused with his beer halfway to his lips. 'For the eight hundredth time, Tony, nothing happened…' he sighed resignedly.

'Okay…'

'What were you doing in her bedroom, anyway?' Jack blurted, suspicion coloring his inquiry.

'I thought you didn't care,' Tony said blandly.

'I don't.'

Tony leaned against the kitchen counter. 'Well, in that case, I fed her the line about not wanting to die a virgin, and we made passionate love on the eve of my heading off to battle.'

Jack's face flushed with nascent anger, before he realized the utter ridiculousness of Tony's statement. Tony hadn't been in Minerva's room for more than a few minutes. 'Not funny.'

Tony chuckled sipping his beer. 'Totally worth it to see you get worked up.' He reached into the pocket of his jacket. 'This came for you earlier,' he said, tossing Jack a small parcel.

'Thanks.' Jack slipped it into an inner pocket of his jacket without opening the package.

'Do you know when…?'

'Maybe early summer. I can't tell you any more than that.'

'That much of a secret?' Tony couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice.

'I don't really know.' Jack propped his feet up in the opposite chair. 'It's going to depend on a lot of things we can't control. But try telling the Muggles that,' he grumbled.

'Do you think it's going to work?'

'I hope so.' Jack shuddered. Their contacts on the Continent were managing to hold on, but after nearly four years of war, it was starting to wear on them. Like all of them, they could only do so much, and what they couldn't do – and who they couldn't save – hung heavily on their conscience. 'Just try and make it back in one piece, okay?'

'Wouldn't dream of doing otherwise.'

Jack finished his beer and jabbed his wand at the bottle. 'Going to bed. Endless hours of rehashing the same things over and over tomorrow.' He ran lightly up the stairs, pausing on the landing outside Minerva's bedroom. The parcel in his pocket rustled softly and Jack knocked quietly on the door.

Minerva flung her hairbrush to the bed and stomped to the door. 'What is this? Bleedin' King's… Cross…?' Her voice died as she yanked open the door. She had changed into her nightdress and her arms crossed protectively over her chest, despite the fact it revealed less than her ATS uniform. 'Jack,' she murmured by way of a greeting.

Jack reached into his jacket and held the package out to her. 'This just came today. It's a little late, but Merry Christmas.' Perplexed, Minerva carefully opened the package and parted the brown paper wrappings revealing a smaller version of the dragon hide wand holster Jack wore, but in iridescent shades of blue with silver buckles. 'I got it from the same place my parents got mine,' he told her. 'But I thought the blue would suit you better.'

'Swedish Short-Snout, is it?'

'Yeah.'

Minerva bit her lip in consternation. 'I didna get anythin' for you.'

'It's okay.'

'Thank you. It's lovely.'

Jack leaned against the doorframe. 'Minerva, about what happened Christmas Eve…'

'There isna anythin' to discuss,' she said firmly.

Jack felt an unexpected stab in his stomach. 'Right. Yeah…' He straightened. 'I'm glad you like the holster.' He darted up the stairs to his bedroom on the top floor, refusing to look back. If he had, he might have seen the sad, wistful expression briefly drift over Minerva's face.

* * *

Minerva shook her right arm slightly. The holster felt odd strapped to her arm, almost alien. But she figured she would grow accustomed to it. It wasn't unpleasant, despite the unfamiliar sensation. It reminded her of the first time she had worn a wristwatch.

She sat in a small chair of her assigned bedroom at Windsor, Dumbledore's books piled in front of her. She had put mild Muggle-Repelling charms on them, and had practiced Jack's method of casting spells without actually holding her wand by putting Freezing charms on the pictures when she heard footsteps approaching the room, as she did now. A soft, tentative knock sounded on the door. Minerva set the book she had been reading down and answered the door. 'Your Highness,' she blurted, quickly dropping a curtsey. Princess Margaret stood, wide-eyed, in the corridor.

'Mummy said we weren't to bother you, Miss McGonagall,' Margaret said quickly.

'It's no bother,' Minerva said smoothly, tugging at the cuff of her nightdress to ensure the holster was completely covered. 'Is there something I can do for you, ma'am?'

'I can't sleep and I saw your light was still on.'

'I'm sure I can find some milk for ye, ma'am.' Minerva wondered if the princess was hungry, which was likely, given the effect of rationing on a child. Margaret wrinkled her nose and shook her head, making her shiny curls bounce. 'Erm… Would ye like to come in for a bit and talk a little?' Minerva asked dubiously. Margaret nodded and edged into Minerva's small bedroom. Minerva indicated the chair she'd recently vacated and waited for Margaret to perch on it, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Margaret's gaze fell on Minerva's hands, folded in her lap, resting on the dark red wool of her dressing gown. 'Are you married, Miss McGonagall?' she asked curiously.

Minerva smiled with gentle humor. 'Seeing as you call me "Miss McGonagall", you ought to be able to answer that question, ma'am.'

Margaret colored in mortification. 'I do apologize. It's just your ring…'

Minerva looked down, fingers straightening and the silver gleamed in the dim light. 'I was engaged.' The left hand returned to her lap and the right hand landed on top of it, hiding the ring from view. 'But not anymore.'

'What happened?'

'He enlisted in the Army and was sent to North Africa,' Minerva said evenly. 'Died a year ago.'

The girlish romantic light in Margaret's eyes muted. 'I'm sorry for your loss,' she murmured.

Minerva inhaled slowly. It still hurt, but it had dulled considerably from the acute ache of a year ago. 'Thank you.'

Margaret fiddled with the sash of her own dressing gown. 'What was his name?'

'Alasdair MacDonald.' Minerva chuckled softly. 'He wore a kilt from time to time.'

'How did you meet him?'

'I was sixteen and home from school for the summer and he nearly ran over me with his infernal bicycle.' Minerva's cheeks flushed. 'He hauled me to my feet, brushed me off, apologized a hundred times.' Minerva shrugged. 'The rest, as they say, is history.'

'Do you think you'll find someone else?' Margaret sighed wistfully, with all the hope in her thirteen year-old heart.

Minerva started a little. 'One can hope, Your Highness,' she said, recovering her aplomb. Margaret smiled dreamily, stifling a yawn. 'And I believe it's time for you to return to your bed, ma'am.' Minerva rose to her feet. 'I'll walk ye back.'

* * *

Flopping back to the sofa cushions, Minerva let the heavy book fall to the floor. She felt as if she were traveling in circles. It was nearly March, and she was no closer to becoming an Animagus than she was at the end of December. 'It's hopeless,' she groaned.

'What is?' Jack had lurked in the doorway, watching her frown and mutter over the pile of books she carried with her everywhere.

Minerva jerked in alarm at the unexpected noise. 'I canna do this,' she said morosely, yanking the pins from her hair and savagely twisting it into a knot. 'My hair willna stay pinned oot o' th' way… There isna a bloody incantation for all that bleedin' nonsense, I hae a splittin' headache, an', it's all a flamin' lot o' theory.'

'Theory shouldn't be a problem for you,' Jack said.

Minerva glared at him over the back of the sofa. 'It isna one theory,' she spat. 'Ye ask one wizard, an' ye get ten theories in return.' She heaved herself off the sofa and stomped to the stairs. 'It's enough to make a person snap their wand in twa,' she ground out between clenched teeth. She charged up the staircase to the bathroom, rolling up the sleeve of her shirt. Once her wand was exposed, she unbuckled the holster and slid her wand out, like a warrior preparing for battle. Curious, Jack stealthily followed her, wondering if she was going to use her wand to smash small objects. He hung back, a few steps below the landing so she wouldn't see him. Minerva swept into the bathroom, and tried slamming the door shut, but it bounced back. 'Sod it,' she grumbled, shaking her head so the pins slid out and her hair tumbled to her shoulders. She gathered it in one hand, then pointed her wand at the mass of hair.

'Don't do that!' Jack protested, leaning into the bathroom.

Minerva met his gaze coolly, then made a slashing motion with her wand. She opened her fist and the shorn tresses drifted to the floor. She waved her wand at the floor and the glossy dark locks of hair disappeared, then flounced from the bathroom, hair swinging just below her shoulders, brushing past Jack. Something caught his attention and he stooped, narrowly avoiding the edge of the sink. A single lock of hair had escaped Minerva's Vanishing charm. Jack picked it up and wound it around his finger, then murmured a soft Sticking charm. He slipped the lock of hair off his finger and tucked it into the pocket of his shirt. Jack trudged down the stairs, pausing on the landing outside Minerva's small bedroom. The door was ajar and she stood in front of the scrap of a mirror hanging on the wall, running her hands through her hair. She looked as if she might cry at any second. Jack drew back into the shadows, watching her stare at her reflection with something akin to trepidation.

'My sister's got hair like yours,' Jack blurted.

Minerva spun stiffly around. 'Go away.'

'My sister, Eileen, has hair like yours. Won't stay up or back for anything. Always in her face. My mom used to use Sticking charms, because Eileen didn't like anyone fussing with her hair. So usually, Mom just did two braids and charmed her hair to stay in place.' Jack scuffed the toe of his boot against the floor. Minerva was still eyeing him like he was something unpleasant on the sole of her own boots. 'When she got older, Eileen'd do it up in one of those net things, but she still used Sticking charms…' Jack coughed. 'Just a suggestion…'

Minerva nodded wordlessly, tucking her hair behind her ear. It felt strange to not have the waist-length mass of hair brushing over her back. 'Could ye help me with the Animagus theory?' she asked in a low voice. She hated to ask for help. It made her feel vulnerable – an emotion with which she preferred to remain nodding acquaintances.

'I thought you'd never ask.' Jack tilted his head toward the staircase. 'Let's go downstairs. It's more comfortable.

* * *

Jack sprawled across the rug, his feet propped on the arm of the sofa. 'So let me get this straight… It all boils down to introspection?' He began to laugh – deep rolling guffaws that echoed around the small sitting room.

'Partially,' Minerva said wearily, twining a lock of hair around her finger.

'No wonder most witches or wizards don't care to become one,' Jack commented. 'You almost can't do this, unless you're willing to be completely honest with yourself…'

'Aye…'

'And what else do you do?'

Minerva heaved a sigh and slid to the floor, joining Jack on the braided rag rug. 'That is where it get confusin'. There isna a spell, like I said.' She rested her head against the seat of the sofa. 'Correction. There is. Ye hae to create it, because the form ye tae is unique to ye.'

'Oh… That could get dicey. What if something goes wrong?'

'Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's,' Minerva replied promptly. She toyed the laces of her boots. 'So I dinna suppose ye ken how to create a spell, do ye?'

Jack shook his head. 'I'm an Auror. We don't really do that... Didn't that teacher of yours have any books about that in the pile he gave you on Christmas?'

'No.'

Jack snorted contemptuously. 'And he's a teacher? Is he any good?'

Minerva drew herself up. 'Professor Dumbledore is a fine teacher.'

'In which universe?' Jack argued. 'Damn it, Minerva, he's asked you to do something that could land you in the hospital for Merlin knows how long, and he didn't give you all the tools to do it with. In my book, lady, that's an accident waiting to happen.' Jack sat up and leaned closer to Minerva. 'What kind of teacher does that?'

Minerva's eyes widened. 'You're talking about a man who's considered to be one of the greatest wizards in Britain,' she hissed.

Jack fell back to the floor with a resounding _ thud _. 'If he's so great, why is he going to let his best student do something with only half the information she needs? Hmmm?' He squarely met her gaze. 'Promise me you'll find someone who can help you with the spellwork.'

'Och, aye,' Minerva drawled sarcastically. 'Witches and wizards who can create a spell are spread so thick on the ground, I'll just go out right now and find one.'

'I'll ask around,' Jack allowed. 'See if someone knows someone,' he intoned. 'As soon as possible.'

Minerva straightened at the sudden serious tone Jack's voice took. 'Why? What do ye know?'

Jack closed his eyes to block out her pensive expression. 'That deadline your _ teacher _ gave you?' He managed to infuse the word "teacher" with enough scorn to spread on toast. 'It's in advance of the invasion.' His hand patted blindly for hers and rested lightly on top of Minerva's, feeling her prominent, bony knuckles against his palm. She had her fists clenched. 'They're hoping for June, which is why you need to learn how to do this in about three more months.'

'And why is it so important that I in particular become an Animagus?'

Jack shifted uneasily. 'They should have told you,' he began. 'We're not sure what Germany's going to do if the invasion is successful. They could start bombing England again, or make an effort to take out the King and Queen. If you become something small and ordinary enough, you can get places regular guards can't.' His eyes drifted open. 'And if anyone can do it, Minerva, you can. You're certainly stubborn enough.'

'There's a compliment buried in there, I'm sure of it.'

'I'll help you as much as I can,' Jack vowed. 'You're nearly as important as the wizards embedded with the infantry and paratroopers. You can't win a war without the support of the homefront. And keeping that family out of harm's way is vital to the British war effort.'

Minerva felt her blood run cold.

What if she failed?


	6. Variation on a Theme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Hex me,' she said to Jack, still sitting nervously in the armchair.
> 
> 'I beg your pardon!' he blurted, aghast.
> 
> 'I said hex me,' Minerva replied, her tenuous grip on her patience shredding.
> 
> Jack stood up and crossed the sitting room, taking Minerva's chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. 'You need to stop,' he told her. 'Get something to eat. Drink some water.'
> 
> 'Not yet.'
> 
> 'Do you want to get sick?'
> 
> 'Not particularly.'
> 
> 'Then stop and take a goddamn break!' Jack shouted.
> 
> 'Not until you hex me.' Minerva pushed back Jack's sleeve, revealing his wand. 'I need to learn how to do this in a pressure situation, no?'
> 
> 'Yeah…'
> 
> Minerva's fingers worked the straps of his wand holster, stripping it from Jack's arm. 'So, hex me…' she urged, fingers lightly stroking his wand.
> 
> Jack's eyes closed briefly, and he offered up a short, fervent prayer. 'Okay,' he breathed. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Minerva's dark eyes, gleaming in triumph. 'Then you take a break,' he ordered.

Minerva trudged into the house, stopping just inside the door to remove her boots. She dropped them with a grateful sigh, and padded into the house. 'Great! You're home!' Jack bounded through the house with the energy of thirteen year-old who'd been allowed to eat too much sugar. 'Where do you get buttermilk around this Godforsaken place?'

'I haven't the slightest idea,' Minerva said irritably. 'Why do ye need buttermilk?'

Jack gazed at her as if she was a dimwitted idiot. 'To soak the chicken, of course,' he said as if it was information _ everybody _ knew. She closed her eyes, gathering the shreds of patience that remained for the day and inhaled.

'Why are ye soakin' chicken in buttermilk?'

'Oh, right. You haven't been here… Reggie's mom sent a care package from home. I'm still not sure how she did it, but she sent a _ chicken _!'

'When was the last time we had chicken?' Minerva asked dreamily.

'Weeks and weeks ago…'

Reggie emerged from the kitchen, waving a piece of parchment at them. 'Mama says we can add a few tablespoons to vinegar to milk and let it sit for a while if we can't get buttermilk. Says it won't be the same, but it's better than nothin'.'

'In that case,' Jack said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, 'the question that remains is: powdered or evaporated?'

'Evaporated,' Reggie blurted. 'Closer to real milk than the powdered crap,' he added defensively.

Minerva folded her arms over her chest and glared Jack and Reggie. 'Nobody's explained to me yet why chicken needs to be soaked in buttermilk,' she said in exasperation.

Reggie paused in his discussion with Jack about dinner preparations. 'I'm makin' fried chicken. Just like my mama makes. Well, not quite, but it's gonna be damn close.' He bustled back into the kitchen. 'We got enough cookin' oil?'

'I think so. We were saving it up when Tony and Frankie were here,' Jack replied, following Reggie into the kitchen. Minerva trailed curiously after them. A whole chicken sat on the table, glistening under the overhead light. 'Did she send cayenne, too?'

Reggie rummaged in a parcel, coming up with an envelope. 'Yep.'

'Can I help?' Minerva asked.

'Out!' Reggie ordered. 'The both of you. You'll just get underfoot…' he grumbled, pointing his wand at the chicken, and it neatly carved itself into pieces.

Jack cupped one of Minerva's elbows and guided her back into the sitting room. 'He's going to be a while,' Jack informed her, studying her face in the wan beam of sunlight that penetrated an open blackout curtain. 'When was the last time you slept?'

'Last night,' Minerva scoffed.

'Doesn't look like it.'

'Have you looked in a mirror lately? You dinna look like the picture o' health, either,' she shot back.

'Yeah, but I'm not the one working on trying to change myself into something else.' Jack leaned against the wall, eyeing her. 'How is that coming, by the way?'

Minerva touched the breast pocket of her jacket. It crackled softly. 'I think I might…'

Jack's eyes flicked to her pocket and back. 'Have you tried it?' he demanded.

'No. I didna want to try it alone the first time.'

'I know you don't listen to me if you can help it, but maybe you ought to wait until tomorrow.'

'Why?'

'So you can at least try to get some sleep before you attempt it.' As her eyes narrowed, Jack added, 'That's an order.'

'Ye dinna gie me orders,' Minerva hissed.

'I don't feel like trying to find your damned hospital in a blackout,' Jack countered. 'Go lie down until dinner's ready.' He stifled a sigh at the visible stiffening of her body. 'If you want, you could go have a nap or something until dinner's ready,' he amended.

Minerva drew herself up to her full height and gazed regally at Jack. 'I believe I shall,' she returned in her plummiest tones, then spun on a socked heel and swept up the stairs.

An hour later, Minerva stared at a pile of golden, crispy chicken. She primly placed a piece on her plate, along with a mound of mashed potatoes, and runner beans. She examined the chicken, as she picked up her knife and fork. 'You don't eat it with a knife and fork,' Reggie said, pointedly picking up his own piece with his fingers.

Scandalized, Minerva stabbed the chicken with her fork, sawing through the coating, then using the tip of her knife to pry it off. 'You have to try it,' Jack said, nudging her hand. 'The skin's the best part.'

Gingerly, Minerva ate the bite of chicken, cautiously chewing while the boys watched her from the corners of their eyes. 'It's good,' she said, swallowing. Then the cayenne laced through the coating began to assert itself. Minerva sniffled a little, then gingerly ate another bite of chicken. Soon her nose was running freely, but she didn't dare say anything, gulping down the glass of water at her elbow, desperately hoping it would quench the burning in her mouth.

'Thirsty?' Jack asked, amusement wreathing his face.

'Not at all,' Minerva gasped, setting the glass down, and pointing her wand at it, refilling it with water.

Reggie chuckled. 'Guess I should've warned you,' he said without a hint of sympathy.

Minerva glared at Jack. 'How can ye stand it?' she demanded.

Jack shrugged, taking a large bite of his chicken. He chewed with obvious delight. 'My dad smears everything with wasabi if it sits still long enough.' He smirked at her. 'That stuff'll make you feel like you've died, and if you're not dead, you'll wish you were.' He bit off another bite of chicken. 'After that, cayenne's child's play.'

'Show off,' Minerva muttered ungraciously, scooping up a forkful of mashed potatoes. The fork hovered just outside her lips. 'Is this as spicy as the chicken?' she asked archly.

Reggie shook his head. 'Naw. It's all right.'

With a slightly elevated brow, Minerva inserted the fork into her mouth. After the chicken, the potatoes were nearly bland. She could feel sweat break out along her hairline and above her upper lip. 'You all right?' Jack asked, peering at her across the table.

'I'm fine,' she replied stiffly, in a manner reminiscent of the first few days she lived in the house, convinced they had given her a piece of chicken that was deliberately spicier than the others. If so, she wasn't about to give either of them the satisfaction of knowing her mouth felt scorched.

* * *

Minerva handed Jack the folded square of parchment. 'If I canna complete the transformation, make sure ye've got this wi' ye when ye take me to St. Mungo's.' She shrugged a little. 'Give them somewhere to start, at least.'

'Are you sure you're ready?' Jack asked dubiously.

'It's now or never, aye?' Minerva walked to the center of the room with a measure gait, wand balanced easily in her hand. Jack sat in the one comfortable armchair he'd pushed against the wall, nervously watching her settle in the exact center of the rug.

Minerva turned so her back was to Jack. Her eyes closed and she took several slow, deep breaths. _ Callida liberia. Tectissimus taciturna. Aptatus elongare _. Over and over she chanted the phrases to herself, trying to picture an animal that matched those qualities. Slowly, she felt herself shrink, until she was nearly sprawled on the floor. She felt lighter, with coiled energy spiraling in the pit of her stomach. Minerva opened her eyes, then immediately closed them to slits against the bright light. She looked around curiously. Everything seemed faded, except the purple flowers woven into the rug. They stood out starkly compared to the others. Her nose twitched under the assault of various scents. The stale odor of cooking, the underlying scent of sour sweat and fear. Unwashed laundry. The musky aroma of Jack.

'Jesus H. Christ,' Jack whispered, but to Minerva's sensitive ears, he might as well have yelled.

Minerva rose unsteadily to her feet and minced around the edge of the rug. Balanced. Alert. She returned to the center of the rug and pictured herself. Tall, wavy hair tumbling into her eyes, proudly erect posture, eyes gazing over the rims of her glasses. She stretched and lengthened, mouth agape, drawing as much oxygen into her lungs as possible.

'Cat,' Jack said in soft awe. 'Tabby. Grey with black stripes. Marks around your eyes, like your glasses…'

'Like the one my mum had when I was small…' Minerva straightened her shoulders and blew her hair determinedly from her face. 'Again…'

With each transformation, Minerva was able to do it just a little faster each time, until after several hours, she was able to do it nearly in the blink of an eye. But it wasn't quite good enough. 'Hex me,' she said to Jack, still sitting nervously in the armchair.

'I beg your pardon!' he blurted, aghast.

'I said hex me,' Minerva replied, her tenuous grip on her patience shredding.

Jack stood up and crossed the sitting room, taking Minerva's chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. 'You need to stop,' he told her. 'Get something to eat. Drink some water.'

'Not yet.'

'Do you want to get sick?'

'Not particularly.'

'Then stop and take a goddamn break!' Jack shouted.

'Not until you hex me.' Minerva pushed back Jack's sleeve, revealing his wand. 'I need to learn how to do this in a pressure situation, no?'

'Yeah…'

Minerva's fingers worked the straps of his wand holster, stripping it from Jack's arm. 'So, hex me…' she urged, fingers lightly stroking his wand.

Jack's eyes closed briefly, and he offered up a short, fervent prayer. 'Okay,' he breathed. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into Minerva's dark eyes, gleaming in triumph. 'Then you take a break,' he ordered.

'Verra well.'

Jack plucked his wand from her hand and spun on one heel. Without warning, he lashed a jinx across the room. Minerva barely had time to react, disappearing just as the jet of blue light blazed where her head had been. Minerva bounded to the windowsill, where she sat daintily, tail waving insouciantly. Jack growled softly and flicked another hex, aiming for the tip of that infuriatingly undulating tail. Minerva lightly leapt out of the window, balancing on the edge of the mantle over the fireplace. Tilting her head, she jumped off the mantle, transforming in mid-air, landing in a crouch, wand pointed at Jack. 'Fantastic,' he pronounced. 'Take a break.'

Minerva carelessly swiped the sleeve of her shirt over her face, drying the layer of sweat that glazed her skin. 'Not yet,' she said.

'Damn it, Minerva!' Jack exploded.

'Aye?' she asked mildly.

Jack ran his hand through his hair. 'I won't stay here and watch you wear yourself out.' He yanked the door open.

'Hex me again,' Minerva called. 'I ken it's killin' ye to hae missed me so much,' she taunted, smiling with the flavor of victory on her tongue. She knew Jack's pride wouldn't let him walk away. Her impudence paid off in spades. Jack stiffened and slowly turned around.

'I meant to miss you,' he informed her coldly.

'I dinna believe that any more than I can throw ye.'

Jack's eyes narrowed. 'I'm going to get something to eat. I'm hungry. I suggest you do the same.'

'D'ye plan to return?'

'You'll just have to wait and find out,' Jack retorted, stomping to the kitchen.

* * *

Shadows slanted across the sitting room when Jack forcibly pried the wand from Minerva's stiff fingers. 'Enough,' he told her sternly. 'You haven't had anything to eat since breakfast.' He flicked his own wand at the blackout curtains, shrouding them in darkness. Minerva started to argue, but her head swam with weariness. She carefully unfolded her body until she stood, swaying on the rug. She surreptitiously rubbed her throbbing bottom. The last hex Jack sent at her Animagus form had singed the base of her tail. Her hair was sodden with sweat and her skin was clammy with it, so her clothes clung damply to her body. Minerva took a cautious step forward and promptly pitched forward, eyes rolled back in her head. Jack caught her before she could fall. He shoved both their wands into his pocket, and leaned down to slide his free arm under Minerva's knees, lifting her in his arms, staggering only a little. 'Silly, stubborn woman,' he grumbled, hefting her into a more comfortable position, head cradled against his shoulder. 'Should have stopped when I told you to.'

Jack stalked up the stairs to Minerva's small bedroom and nudged the door open. He stooped and laid her inert body over the bed, removing her shoes and glasses, setting the latter on the chair next to the bed. He stood for several long moments, watching her sleep, before he unthinkingly pulled her wand from his pocket instead of his, and waved it over her. Glowing words drifted over her and Jack nodded in satisfaction. She had just pushed herself past her limits. A good sleep and a decent meal when she woke up would go a long way toward restoring her to normal. He started to slip the wand back in his pocket, but started when he realized it was Minerva's. 'That's funny,' he mused. 'Wands aren't supposed to work very well if it's not yours…' He set it on the chair next to her glasses and took a step back, but paused, and brushed a lock of hair away from her face, picturing her in the hammock in his parents' garden, the honeyed California sun sending dappled shadows over her face. One finger traced the outline of her mouth, remembering the whisky-soaked tang of that one, brief kiss, body rousing painfully at the memory. Her breathing hitched, and Jack quickly stepped back, yanking his hand away as if he'd been burned.

This was not supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to want her like this.

* * *

Hunger pangs woke Minerva in the wee hours of the morning. She opened her eyes to the oppressive darkness generated by the blackout curtains and patted blindly for her wand. Her fingers wrapped around the handle and she muttered, '_ Lumos _.' The beam of light cut through the gloom and she searched for her glasses. They were on the chair next to the bed, and she had a brief moment of disorientation. She didn't remember coming up to bed. The last thing she did remember was…

'Oh bluidy hell,' she hissed, pressing her fingers to her gritty eyes. 'Please tell me I didna _ faint _ in front of him…' Minerva pushed the glasses on her nose and swung her feet to the floor. She was famished. It irritated her to have to acknowledge Jack was right. She _ should _ have stopped and at least had a bite of something. In fact, she was going to slip downstairs and see if there was something readily available in the kitchen. Reggie had brought home some strawberries that afternoon. And she was relatively certain there was still bread. Tea, and she would reconstitute some of the powdered milk, too. She went down the stairs, annoyed at how her knees trembled. She hated showing any sort of weakness in front of people. She rarely lost her temper or had emotional breakdowns, even in the privacy within the four walls of her bedroom here or even in Scotland. At the next landing, she stopped, clinging to the banister, taking several deep breaths, then made her way to the ground floor. She wobbled to the kitchen, keeping one hand on the wall for its steady support.

The kitchen was thankfully deserted, and Minerva quickly assembled her slapdash meal. Strawberries, toast, and tea. 'My mother would be outraged,' she murmured. Minerva wasn't sure if Flora would be more put out at the condition into which Minerva put herself, or the fact she'd deliberately needled Jack into pushing her past her mental and physical limits.

'Who would be outraged?' Jack shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes. Minerva nearly dropped her toast. He wore nothing but a pair of olive drab boxer shorts and a sleeveless vest of nearly the same shade. She was grateful the overhead light wasn't so bright that it could reveal the blush that spread over her face. True, Jack's attire didn't reveal much more than his regular clothes, but she couldn't help but take a peek at his backside as he rummaged for a glass, filling it with water. He joined her at the table. 'Who would be outraged?' he repeated.

Minerva buried her nose in her cup of tea. 'My mother,' she muttered.

'Why?'

Carefully keeping her eyes glued to the plate on the table in front of her, Minerva said, 'Do ye always scamper about the house in your pants?'

'I'm not wearing pants…' Jack glanced down in confusion. He hadn't expected anyone to be awake, so he didn't pull on his trousers before he came down to the kitchen.

Minerva flapped a hand at him. 'Your underthings,' she said stiffly.

'Not usually.' Jack leaned back. 'So… Your mom?'

'Did I ever tell ye she died?'

'Yeah, when you first came here.'

Inasmuch as Minerva didn't like to display strong emotions in front of others, she trusted Jack to keep this to himself. After all, she'd trusted him to keep watch over her while she transformed the first time. 'It was my fault.'

'I doubt that.'

Minerva shook her head. 'I was ill wi' dragon pox. Mam didna hae it as a bairn.'

'And she caught it,' Jack surmised.

'Aye.' The single word hung between them dispassionately.

'That wasn't your fault.'

Minerva shrugged. 'Perhaps not. Da never said so, at any rate.'

'Of course he wouldn't,' Jack murmured. What little he knew of Angus McGonagall was enough to illustrate the man's character. Even muted to outsiders, Angus' fierce love for his daughter was all too evident when he had tried to make her return to Scotland last summer. Jack was all but certain Angus didn't think Minerva had anything to do with her mother's death. 'Do you remember her?'

'Some,' Minerva admitted. One hand stole to her hair, and she gathered it at the base of her neck. 'She had hair like mine. And the same color eyes. She used to sing and told me stories to keep me entertained. She never raised her voice, even though Da could make mountains tremble. I remember the way she smelled… Like… chamomile and honey. And ginger biscuits…'

'And you think she would be outraged by what…?'

'If I go by what Da told me and what I read of the letters they wrote to each other, it wouldna be livin' here. Mam would hae told Da to hae more faith in people to do the right thing. The way Da always talked about her, she was the kind of woman people look up to.' Minerva bit her lip and took a hasty sip of tea. 'Da told me I had her intelligence and cleverness.' She grinned. 'And her independence.'

'Who? You? Independent? Pfft.' Jack chuckled softly.

'Just wee bit,' Minerva said. 'When I was a girl, about to start school, Da gave me a letter from Mam. She wrote it before she died…' A pensive expression flickered over Minerva's face. 'In it, she told me to always do what was right, even if it wasna the easy choice.' She lifted her mug and gulped down half her tea. 'I shamed her memory today,' she said softly.

Jack snorted. 'I think you would have made her proud at what you were able to do.'

Minerva shook her head. 'It isna that. I was unkind to ye.' One of her hands settled gently over one of his. Warmth shot through her palm and with a stifled gasp, Minerva hastily rose to her feet to cover her confusion and jabbed her wand at the dishes she'd used. They flew through the air and landed in the sink. 'She wouldna hae liked that…' Minerva fled, darting to the stairs and scurrying up to her room, managing not to slam the door shut.

Her father's words from Christmas echoed through her head. The non-fraternization rules notwithstanding, she wondered if she baited Jack on purpose to push him away. Out of the four boys, he was the one she turned to more than the rest. She trusted Jack with her life, but would she trust him with more than that? Or would she cling to her past because she felt obligated to do so?


	7. Moonlight Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack tugged her closer so they pressed against each other. He ran a hand under her hair, lifting it from the back of her neck before it settled at her waist. 'I caught my parents dancing to this the night before they had to report to the assembly center,' he said quietly. 'They were in the back yard, with their old portable record player, exhausted from spending the day packing up their things. It's probably the last thing they did that felt normal.'
> 
> 'Where are they exactly?'
> 
> 'Place called Topaz War Relocation Center. In Utah. Maybe one hundred and fifty miles away from Salt Lake City.' When Minerva's brows drew together, Jack added, 'I'll show you on a map later.'
> 
> She let her head rest against his shoulder. 'Did they like this song in particular? It's a bit melancholy.' Minerva was a little surprised to find they were at a different part of the dance floor. With most of her dance partners, she found she had to concentrate wholly on what she was doing. With Jack, she seemed to move effortlessly with him.
> 
> 'Yeah.' 
> 
> 'What is it called?'
> 
> '"Moonlight Serenade".'

There were times it was a very good thing to be a witch. Minerva stood over the bathtub, aiming her wand at it, watching as steaming, crystalline water streamed from the tip. Once the bath was full, she let the towel wrapped around her body fall to the floor and gingerly stepped into the hot bathwater. Her knees bent and she slipped further under the water until her chin rested on the surface. Her eyes drifted shut in bliss and Minerva allowed herself to sigh audibly. The water soothed muscles knotted from sleeping on uncomfortable beds that even Cushioning charms didn't help.

'Minerva?'

Minerva's eyes popped open and she raised a dripping hand to her forehead. _ Maybe if I say nothing, he'll go away. _

Knocks rapped sharply on the door. 'Minerva, are you drowning? If you're drowning, I'll blast the door down and rescue you. Use that elbow thing to expel the water from your lungs.'

'What?' she said wearily. 'Is it so important that ye hae to interrupt my first decent bath in days?'

'Frankie and Tony have some leave before… Well before…' Jack called through the firmly closed door. 'They'll be in London tomorrow. We haven't really had the chance to go to this Diagon Alley we keep hearing about. Since you're not at Windsor, I thought we could go tomorrow.'

Minerva's head fell back against the edge of the bathtub. 'Ye dinna need me to go. I can tell ye how to get in.'

'But I want you to,' Jack protested. 'We can make a day of it. And go to a Muggle place after dinner and see who can persuade you to cut a rug. I hear Covent Garden's all the rage.' Minerva remained silent. She wanted to spend the evening curled up with a book and a cup of tea. 'We're going to go in a group so you won't just be with us,' he wheedled. 'I think we convinced Neville to come with us and bring his fiancée.'

Minerva lifted her head. Augusta. She needed another girl to talk to about… things. 'If I promise to gie ye an answer when I'm done wi' my bath, will ye go away and leave me be?'

'Better hurry. If you take too long, you'll get all pruney. And there won't be anything left for dinner except powdered eggs and dry toast!'

'I'm willin' to tae that risk,' Minerva muttered under her breath. 'I willna tae as long if ye _ go away _, and let me hae my bath in peace!' she said louder.

'Oh, fine,' Jack sighed. Minerva could hear his footsteps clunk down the stairs and fade. She relaxed under the hot water once more. She did enjoy dancing, which would have been a monumental shock to most people that knew her. And it had been months since she'd been in Diagon Alley. She wondered if it had been touched by the war, as had the rest of London. Minerva slid all the way under the water until she was completely submerged. Everything around her faded, and for a moment, she could forget the rest of the world, the war, and stop counting the death toll. She wondered if wizardkind would ever engage in such a war, where one side dedicated itself to the certain destruction of a group of people strictly based on an absurd belief that they were somehow inferior.

* * *

Minerva cradled a cup of tea, gratefully inhaling the fragrant steam, marveling over the fact there was real milk in it and not powdered or evaporated milk. 'You seem to be awfully cozy with the Yanks,' Augusta said.

Minerva took a slow sip of her tea, savoring the feel and flavor of the milky sweetness. 'O' course I am,' she said mildly. 'I share a house wi' them, eat meals wi' them, and the poor, pathetic buggers still try to beat me in chess,' she added with just a touch of pity. She shrugged. 'Have ye ever tried to live wi' someone and remain completely aloof?'

'There was that Myrtle girl in Ravenclaw that died last year,' Augusta replied pertly. 'Always sniveling about something,' she said scornfully. 'Even worse in death…'

'Oh, God,' Minerva groaned softly. 'Mind, I don't like t' speak ill o' the dead, but I've never wanted t' smack sense intae someone as much as I did her.'

'So what's the story with you and the Yanks?'

'Naught to tell, aye?' Minerva said stiffly, but she gazed across the street at Jack, Reggie, Neville, Tony, and Frankie, who had been accompanied by one of the British wizards involved in the invasion, Theo Grevas. Jack, Tony, Reggie, and Frank were virtual prisoners to the impassioned lecture Neville gave them about the intricacies of Quidditch. Neville pointed to the different brooms in Quality Quidditch Supplies, expounding on the differences between each make and model, gesticulating wildly in his enthusiasm for his subject.

'Captain Hashimoto seems rather fit,' Augusta said idly.

'Gussie! You're practically a married woman!'

'That doesn't mean I'm dead,' Augusta murmured. 'I'm sure if the captain desired to stay in England, we could find a position for him in the Ministry…'

'He's an Auror.'

'Even better. They need someone in the ranks they can promote to Head later. Someone charismatic who can lead.'

Minerva tried to picture Jack as the Head of some Ministry department and snorted. Not Jack. 'Too irreverent,' she retorted.

'That's not what Nev tells me,' Augusta shot back. 'He says the captain is well liked and well regarded by the others. Even the Muggles. Neville says he's quite clever, and tries to arrange it so the other Allied troops are as protected as the Americans. I'd say that's generous, wouldn't you?'

'We're allies,' Minerva explained. 'Of course he would ensure everyone is given as much protection as possible. She leaned forward. 'Even if he wanted to stay,' she began, 'I canna see him living _ here _.'

'So go to America, then.'

Minerva shook her head. 'No. I willna leave Britain.'

Augusta sighed. 'Minnie… he's dead and he's not coming back. I don't think he'd want you to live the rest of your life alone from some sense of loyalty.'

'It isna that,' Minerva explained. 'Da's here. I canna leave Da.'

'So take him with you. He can glower at Americans.'

Minerva watched as Jack loped toward them. He stuck out in Diagon Alley, and it wasn't because of his Muggle clothes. He was brash, beaming, and supremely confident. He turned people's heads, but he didn't actively attempt to gain their attention. And Minerva most certainly did not want to stand out. British wizardkind valued their ability to remain unnoticed by the Muggles. They didn't routinely wear Muggle clothing, live in predominantly Muggle areas of Britain, and very few sent their children to a Muggle primary school before Hogwarts. 'Can you play Quidditch?' he asked Minerva.

'I was the Keeper for my House team. Gussie played Beater. Won the Quidditch Cup at school,' she said blandly. 'Twice.'

'So how good are you?'

'I'm verra flexible.' Her mouth twitched with humor.

Jack's eyes widened for a moment. 'That doesn't tell me how good you are on a broomstick,' he chided, after clearing his throat.

'What would ye say, Gussie? I allowed perhaps nine goals my last year at school?'

'Nine. Perhaps ten or eleven at the most.'

'We – the other boys and me – thought we could go out to the country tomorrow and play a bit.'

'Can ye even play Quidditch?' Minerva asked.

'Not so much,' Jack admitted. 'Our version uses a Quaffle that's been charmed to explode after a Countdown charm expires unless you can score a goal first. Quodpot. It's why most of our mothers won't let us play. Afraid we'll blast off a finger or two. But how hard can Quidditch be? Especially since nothing explodes,' Jack added with only a little scorn. 'That's a little bit boring…'

Minerva turned to Augusta. 'Why do Americans _ insist _ on taking perfectly good sports, like Quidditch, that have a long and storied history, and muck about wi' it I ask ye? Exploding Quaffles…' she muttered. 'Like the strategy involved in a game isna worth their time.'

Jack pulled out a chair next to Minerva and flipped it around, straddling it and resting his arms on the back. 'How 'bout a friendly wager?' he offered.

'Aye?' Minerva murmured, then lapsed into silence, waiting for Jack to continue.

'The loser makes breakfast _ and _ dinner for the next two weeks,' Jack said promptly.

Minerva glanced at Augusta and they shared a small nod. 'Verra well,' Minerva began. 'You Yanks against Neville, Augusta, Theo, and me.'

'Hold on a minute,' Frankie spluttered. He and the others had finally made their way to the table. 'Nobody said nothin' 'bout playin' with chicks.'

Minerva's shoulders stiffened. 'I'll hae ye know there are many fine female Quidditch players!' she snapped. 'In fact, we hae an entire team of women in Holyhead. They happen t' be one o' the oldest teams in Britain and Ireland.'

'So?' Frankie countered. 'That don't mean they can play.' Minerva's eyes narrowed dangerously, and her wand began to emit bright purple sparks.

'Best sleep with one eye open, Frank,' warned Reggie. 'Especially with what she can do now.'

Minerva and Augusta exchanged cool looks. 'Tomorrow,' Minerva promised. It was a promise she intended to keep.

* * *

Covent Garden was loud and crowded. Uniformed soldier and sailors mingled with civilians, dancing with girls in carefully mended or remade clothes. Beer flowed freely, although one swallow proved it to be somewhat weaker than it would have been before the war. The band began to play the British national anthem and scores of people stood and began to sing. 'God save our gracious King, Long live our noble King, God save our King…'

Jack, Tony, Frankie, and Reggie stood out of respect for their host country, but Minerva could hear Jack singing in a sardonic voice, 'My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing…' She gave him a strange look, but he merely winked at her, and continued singing his lyrics with a perfectly straight face, lips twisting mockingly at the last phrase. 'Let freedom ring,' he intoned, saluting her with military precision. She wondered briefly why he would sing words of freedom so cynically, then remembered his family, through no fault of their own, had been forced to relocate to a detention center far away from their homes. Reggie lived as a second-class citizen, only grudgingly allowed to attend school. Tony had spoken of cousins who had been forced to return to Mexico, even though his family had lived in the surrounding area of San Antonio for over two hundred years. For Frankie, it was far more subtle. Epithets regarding his religious faith and exclusions from certain places and activities. Yet, in spite of all that, all four of them had volunteered to serve a country that didn't view them as equals, despite the magical community's inclusion.

Minerva folded herself into a chair, sipping her glass of beer. The band played music reminiscent of the kind Jack had been playing on the wireless that day nearly a year ago when she first arrived at the house. Theo and his shy young wife, Amelia, were currently on the dance floor. Minerva remembered Theo from school. He was a couple of years older than she and had been in Ravenclaw. Amelia was a Muggle and Theo adored her. They danced no less frenetically than the Americans, Amelia's skirt swirling around her knees while Theo flipped her over his shoulders. Neville and Augusta's pace was far more sedate. Minerva picked up her glass of beer and sipped it, eyeing the crowd. Reggie and Frankie approached a group of girls, clustered on one side of the room, giggling at their jokes. 'Wanna dance?' shouted Tony.

'Who? Me?' Minerva was startled.

'Why not?' Tony glanced at t he packed dance floor. 'You _ can _ dance like that, can't you?'

Minerva's eyes narrowed at the subtle challenge. 'I can dance.' She took Tony's hand and allowed him to lead her out to the dance floor. Even without the aerial tricks that Theo and Amelia seemed to enjoy, Minerva had to concentrate a good deal to keep up with Tony's flying feet.

'You're much better than my sister Trudy,' he shouted over the music. 'She used to hate dancing with me because I stepped on her toes all the time!' He spun Minerva under one arm. 'Of course, it didn't help that I dropped her on her head trying to do that swingy thing Theo and Amelia are doing.' He gestured to the center of the floor. Theo picked up Ameila, hooked her knees over one arm, released her torso, then swung her over his back to the other side, where she landed on her feet, laughing. He caught Minerva's wide-eyed look, as if she assumed he'd want to try it with her. 'Don't worry! That was the first and last time I tried it!' Tony assured her. The song drew to a close and he bent her backward over one arm.

As they straightened, Minerva impulsively hugged Tony. 'Ye're much better than that poor Hufflepuff that had to dance wi' me at our last Yule Ball,' she informed him with a giggle. 'I was six inches taller than he.'

The reprieve was short-lived and the band struck up another lively tune. Tony and Minerva started dancing once more, breathless with their exertions. After the song ended, the band mercifully switched to something slower. Jack drained his glass of beer and set it down on the table with a _ bang _. He'd been watching Minerva dance with Tony with only a slight glower. Deciding it was his turn, Jack wove through the couples and tapped Tony on the shoulder. 'May I cut in?'

'Of course.' Tony stepped aside and let Jack take his place, wiping his sweaty face with the handkerchief in his pocket.

Jack tugged her closer so they pressed against each other. He ran a hand under her hair, lifting it from the back of her neck before it settled at her waist. 'I caught my parents dancing to this the night before they had to report to the assembly center,' he said quietly. 'They were in the back yard, with their old portable record player, exhausted from spending the day packing up their things. It's probably the last thing they did that felt normal.'

'Where are they exactly?'

'Place called Topaz War Relocation Center. In Utah. Maybe one hundred and fifty miles away from Salt Lake City.' When Minerva's brows drew together, Jack added, 'I'll show you on a map later.'

She let her head rest against his shoulder. 'Did they like this song in particular? It's a bit melancholy.' Minerva was a little surprised to find they were at a different part of the dance floor. With most of her dance partners, she found she had to concentrate wholly on what she was doing. With Jack, she seemed to move effortlessly with him.

'Yeah.' _ Not as much as I do… _

'What is it called?'

'"Moonlight Serenade".'

Minerva snickered a little. 'I suppose it's not verra popular with werewolves…'

'I happen to know a couple of werewolves who love this song,' Jack protested.

'Ye do?' Minerva blurted, stiffening.

'Oh, relax,' Jack huffed, wrapping his arm around her waist. 'We try to find them jobs out in the woods, where they don't pose a danger to people. Mostly they keep an eye on a few places where the folks who like to dabble in Dark magic gather from time to time. The two or three I know just want to be regular guys.'

'What do ye mean by "dabble"?' Minerva could feel alarm rising in her stomach.

'They're idiots who like to go around, dressed up in white sheets, and bully people they don't like,' Jack sighed. 'Most of them are Muggles, but there are a few wizards in there. They'll use the Cruciatas curse or Imperius their group to do something. Not that they need much Imperiusing to begin with… It's all so stupid.' Jack shook himself slightly. This was starting to border on talking about work, since it was what he would be doing, had the war not broken out. And he didn't want to talk about work just now. The music faded away and the band leader announced a fifteen-minute break. They made their way back to the small table, where Reggie and Frankie had delivered a fresh round of beer. Jack snagged two glasses and gave one to Minerva. 'Cheers.' He clinked his glass against hers, and proceeded to down the entire contents of it in one long swallow. Like everything lately, he liked dancing with her far too much for his own comfort, and it was either avoid her, which was impossible, or drink enough to blunt the edges. He chose the latter.

* * *

Minerva stamped on the ground, raising a puff of dust, testing its hardness. If the ground was too marshy, getting a good kickoff would be difficult. 'It'll do.' She scanned the sky, shading her eyes. 'It's a little bright, but those clouds off the coast look like they could bring in a nasty storm.'

Neville strapped on a pair of arm guards and chuckled. 'It's just a game, Minerva,' he told her.

Minerva glared at him coldly. 'It's never _ just _ a game.' She dropped to the ground next to Augusta and rolled up the hems of a pair of dungarees she had recently acquired. 'Besides, I dinna cook verra well,' she admitted. 'If we lose, they'll hae to eat porridge and bannocks for every bloody meal.'

'But they don't know that,' Augusta said consolingly. 'Serves them right to make a bet and not know what they might receive if the outcome goes their way.'

'Either way, it sounds like they'll lose,' Theo chuckled.

'Are we playin' or what?' shouted Frankie, gripping a broomstick.

In reply, Minerva stood up and bound her hair in a scarf to keep it out of her eyes. She mounted her broomstick and kicked off, soaring to one end of the field. 'We're playin'!' she replied. She clenched her fists one last time to settle the gloves on her fingers and sat back on her broom, hands resting lightly on her thighs, balanced just so.

Theo opened the crate in the middle of the field, and tossed the Quaffle to Tony, unleashed the Bludger, then released the Snitch. Theo kicked off after the Snitch, while Tony sped toward Minerva, the Quaffle clutched under his arm. He neatly dodged the Bludger Augusta hit at him, narrowly missing careening into Neville. He tried to throw the Quaffle so it dropped at the last moment, but Minerva kicked it away. She smirked at him when Neville caught the Quaffle and looped over Augusta to the other end of their ersatz pitch, where Jack guarded the oak tree that made their goal. Augusta took aim with the Bludger and hit it directly in Reggie's path. Reggie had to swerve to avoid being hit in the face, and Neville continued to the oak tree unimpeded. Neville threw the Quaffle hard enough to elicit a grunt, and it sailed just over Jack's fingertips. 'Hah!' Neville shouted.

With a muffled curse, Jack tossed the Quaffle to Tony. 'Come on!' he yelled. 'Forget they've got girls on their team!'

Tony swooped around Jack. 'Believe me, I'm trying!' Tony tucked the back closely against his ribs, just like his father had taught him to carry a football. He wasn't expecting the two-pronged attack of both Neville and Augusta. Augusta slammed the Bludger toward the back of Tony's broom. It didn't hit the broomstick, but it made it wobble and buck in its wake. Neville dove from above, flying so close to Tony, he thought they were going to collide. Tony rolled to one side to avoid the crash, and lost his grip on the Quaffle. Neville caught it and banked in a turn back to the other side of the field. As he threw it past Jack, Minerva cheered loudly. She couldn't help but feel an unseemly sense of triumph at being able to do something well that they could not. It wasn't that they were terribly bad at Quidditch, but she, Neville, Augusta, and Theo were better, having honed their skills on their House teams at school.

When Theo finally caught the Snitch, Minerva couldn't help but shoot around the field in a victory lap. They hadn't officially kept score, but she had in her head. It was two hundred and fifty to thirty. She landed on the ground, dismounting with a jig. Jack directed his broom to the turf and trudged to Minerva. 'Good game,' he said grudgingly.

'Ye didna play badly,' she offered, unable to keep the smug grin off her face.

'Please. You flew circles around us,' Jack admitted. 'Where did you learn to play like that?'

'School,' she said, preening slightly. 'The competition can become somewhat cutthroat.'

Jack studied her, and the rest of the British team. 'You were holding back on us,' he blurted accusingly.

Theo looked abashed. 'Perhaps a little.' He shrugged with one shoulder. 'We didn't want to embarrass you.'

'Yeah, 'cause gettin' creamed by over two hundred points ain't embarrassin',' Reggie huffed, wiping sweat from his face with his sleeve. He eyed Minerva speculatively. 'I ain't bringin' you no breakfast in bed, girl.'

'Just as well for you, I'm going back to Windsor first thing tomorrow. Must be there early, so I'll hae to see to my own breakfast.'

'Bet's a bet,' Jack interjected. 'What time do you need to be at Windsor?'

'Six.'

'That's early,' Jack murmured.

Minerva grinned. 'I hae a proposition for ye,' she began. 'Ye let me hae an uninterrupted bath tonight in exchange for breakfast tomorrow.'

Jack flushed. He did have a habit of thinking of "urgent" things to discuss with her, just as she got into the bath. Often, it was the only time he could talk to her without arousing suspicions from Reggie. 'Deal,' he sighed.


	8. D-Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack waved the mouth of the bottle under his nose, sniffing appreciatively. 'Decent wine, too. And why? Because it worked! The invasion worked. We took that damn strip of beach in Normandy.' He set the bottle down. 'Did you hear me, Minerva? It worked!' he shouted, voice breaking. 'Months of planning and training, then hoping the weather cleared enough so we could do it now and not next month… It could be over in Europe by Christmas,' he said joyfully. He pulled his dog tags from inside his shirt and brandished them at her. 'And all four of my boys are alive.' He held out the dog tag with four names glowing softly on its surface. 'For now.' Jack took a swig from the bottle. 'Not bad. So let's have supper and demolish this wine and celebrate something going right.'
> 
> Minerva stared at him for a moment before reaching for the bottle; raising it to her lips and tilting it back, letting the liquid slide down her throat. 'Verra well,' she said.

Jack crouched in a drafty barn with Theo, Tony, Neville, and Frankie. 'Invasion's on,' he said quietly. 'You know we have to take that damn beach. I don't have to tell you how important that is.' He straightened and peered at each of them, adjusting Frankie's armband that marked him as a medic. All four of them were assigned as medics for their respective platoons. 'And for God's sake… Be careful.' He aimed a look at Neville and Theo. 'Especially you two. I don't want to be the one that has to tell your girls what happened to you.'

Neville smiled tremulously. 'I imagine Augusta will kill me if I die in France,' he said in an attempt to inject a little levity into the moment.

Jack lightly punched Neville in the arm. 'Shield charms on the crossing. If you can get in a Body-Bind on the Jerries operating the guns, then all the better.' He distributed tiny vials of a glimmering golden potion. 'Don't take this until you have to,' he warned. He gave them larger vials with another shimmering potion. 'Take this as soon as your landing craft is in the water. Channel's choppy and we can't have you throwing up your toenails over the side,' he instructed Neville and Theo. 'Frankie, Tony, drink it  _ before _ you're airborne.'

Frankie held up the smaller vial. 'Jack? Is this what I think it is?'

'Yeah. Just enough to get you to France. If you're with the infantry, don't take it until you see the shore of Normandy.' Jack considered the small vial in Frankie's palm. 'Change that. Don't drink it until you're ready to get off that damn boat. Going airborne, take it just before you jump.'

'What if  _ they're _ using this little potion, too?' Theo asked, worry lancing his voice.

Jack ran his hand through his hair, resisting the urge to tug on it. 'I haven't heard from some our contacts on the Continent in weeks. The last Jan was able to tell me, the ones in Warsaw weren't. And I'm pretty sure they're not using it in France.' Jack ran a hand over his face. 'Well, at least not in the last year or so. I don't think they can get the proper ingredients for it anymore.'

'Think those bastards captured Jan?' Frankie asked, a little too savagely for Jack's taste. Frankie had more reason than most to win the war in Europe.

'I hope not. Good chance he went into the Home Army. They're planning something in Warsaw on the chance the invasion is successful. The witches and wizards in the French Resistance have been setting Confundus charms on the German commanders in regards to where and when the invasion will happen.'

'Can we Imperius them?' Frankie interrupted.

Jack hesitated. But war, and this war in particular, had reached a level of hell that the laws governing the magical community could never have foreseen. 'Only if you're in grave danger,' he finally said. 'And only if you can use it to prevent the capture of your unit.' He glanced at his watch. 'Better get going. First wave of airborne's taking off at midnight.' He shook hands with Theo and Neville, gave Frankie a back-pounding hug, and held Tony back for a moment. Tony was the closest thing to a brother he had. They'd attended Salem together, survived the Auror program together, and they had both volunteered to serve with the Army together. 'Keep an eye on Frankie, if you can. I have a feeling he's going to do something stupid,' Jack said thickly, unable to meet Tony's eyes. 'Like try and capture Berlin all by himself. And try not to get shot. Your mother scares me.'

'I'll do my best,' Tony said gravely. 'And  _ Mami  _ likes you more than she likes any of us.'

'Only because I help wash dishes,' Jack shot back. He stared at the line of C-47s for a long moment. 'I wish…' Jack began, but Tony cut him off.

'No, you don't. You don't want to be there. You don't want to risk dying. We need you here in case it doesn't work. We need you here if it does. If it hadn't been for you, the four of us wouldn't be as well-trained as we are. Nobody is going to be able to question what we say we are or suspect we're using other means to fight. You're too good a planner and trainer to be cannon fodder. Besides, you're gonna be Head one day. And Min…'

'Pipe dreams,' Jack muttered. 'No more than what Eileen reads in those damn dimestore novels.'

'Those dreams are what we're fighting in all this craziness for,' Tony reminded him. 'Don't give up on her.' He started for the airstrip where the troop carrier that would carry him across the Channel to Normandy waited. Halfway there, he stopped and quite unembarrassed, tightly hugged Jack.

'Don't be a hero,' Jack murmured, lightly slapping Tony's cheek. 'Go.'

Tony shrugged. He was in one of the groups slated to take off in the later wave of drops. 'Listen, about Min…'

'Stop,' Jack snarled, heartily tired of people telling what he should do or not do with Minerva McGonagall. 'That's an order,  _ Lieutenant _ .'

Tony plowed ahead, ignoring Jack as he usually did. 'I've been watching the two of you. We all have. And you're both lousy at hiding it. She's the type that doesn't do anything halfway. You saw how she went at it with both hands when she got that assignment from that Dumbledore guy. She's also the type that only falls in love once in a lifetime –'

'And that ship's already sailed, Tony.'

Tony shook his head. 'I don't think so.' He stooped and shouldered his pack. 'Try not to find yourself under a German bomb.'

Jack nodded once. 'I'll send a message to Hitler. "Don't bomb the house where John Hashimoto lives in London. Hugs and kisses, Antonio Lopez." Speaking of messages, don't forget to activate the Protean charm on your dog tags. It'll let me know you've landed safely. Remind the others, will you?'

'Copy that and roger wilco.'

'Do it at least once a day. Ideally, you should do it two or three times.'

'Jack!'

'What?'

'You're starting to sound like  _ Mami _ . Actually, you sound like  _ Tia _ Esperanza.' Tony extended a hand to Jack, who grasped it tightly. He tapped his dog tags, gleaming in the lights, before tucking them into his shirt. 'As soon as I land.'

The muscles in Jack's jaw jumped. 'Good luck…' Tony smiled thinly and loped toward his aircraft. 'Hey! If you happen to run into Takeshi over there...' Tony waved in acknowledgement. Takeshi was Jack's cousin. They were close, nearly as close as Jack and Tony. He was embedded in the all-Nisei 442nd Infantry Regiment, and Jack had heard through the military grapevine they had landed in Italy a few days ago. Jack envied Takeshi sometimes. He was actively doing something and Jack felt all he did was devise ways in which magic could help end the war with a victory for the Allies.

Jack stood in shadows, watching as first Frankie's, then Tony's troop carrier soared into the sky, murmuring soundless prayers for their safe return. Whenever that might be. After an agonizingly long wait, the blank dog tag nestled with his regulation tags vibrated softly against his chest. Jack flipped it over to see Tony's name glowing dimly on the silvery tag. He exhaled in short-lived relief and wrapped his hand around the tag, the edges of the metal biting into his palm, eyes squeezed shut against the sickening fear that Frankie hadn't managed to jump successfully.

He stayed, picturing the landing craft that would take Theo and Neville to the strip of beach assigned to the British – Theo to Gold Beach, and Neville to Sword, again, silent words of prayer dropping from his lips into the cold wind. There was no going home for him today. Not until he knew if their gamble paid off and they had managed to take coast of Normandy.

* * *

Just after midnight, Minerva transformed and slipped from her room, trotting smoothly down the corridors, hugging the shadows. She hoped the royal family's dogs didn't scent her as she explored the family wing at Windsor. She also hoped the few guards that remained on staff wouldn't notice one, small, grey tabby cat. Besides, if something were to happen, if the Germans retaliated for the invasion, she could actually do something about it. Put Shield charms over the King or Queen. Or the Princesses. She debated internally with herself about who she would save, if it came down to it. Even with magic, she couldn't be in two places at once. She supposed if she had to make a decision, if her life depended on it, she would put every protective charm she could over the Princess Elizabeth first. Elizabeth had just turned eighteen and was old enough to where she could step in as Queen. Like both of her parents, Elizabeth had a strong sense of her responsibilities to her country and possessed a level of rationality uncommon in one so young. Even though it was a largely ceremonial role, Minerva wouldn't wish becoming the titular head of the country during a long and difficult war on even a Black, much as she would want to hex them into next year. However, she knew that if the King were to die, it would devastate the country in ways she couldn't begin to imagine. Therein lay the dilemma.

According to the small calendar she kept on the flyleaf of a book, it was June sixth. Just as she was preparing to return to the house in London, her supervisor poked his head into her room, and requested she stay for just another day or two. It was especially important, given her unique talents, he'd told her, especially considering the upcoming invasion. He hadn't told her when it was going to happen, but given the extension of her time on duty, she surmised it was going to happen within the next day or two. She spent most of her nights at Windsor prowling the corridors in and around the family wing in order to familiarize herself with the layout, in addition to her regular duties. She was looking forward to going back to London, and crawling into the small bed, pulling the bedding over her head and sleeping for an entire day. The tension hanging over Windsor was exhausting.

Somewhere, distantly, a clock struck three. A door creaked open and the King, head wreathed with a cloud of smoke drifting from the end of a cigarette he held between his fingers, walked into the corridor. Minerva froze, just outside the shaft of light spilling out of his bedroom. She cursed to herself. She knew the King didn't sleep much and tended to pace the family wing during the night. He stopped to take a draw of his cigarette and peered in her direction. He crouched down and held out a hand, clicking his tongue softly. Remembering to behave as a cat, Minerva cautiously slunk forward, nosing the fingers that reeked of tobacco. If her nose could wrinkle, she reckoned it would. He gently tickled her under the chin. 'Wh-where did you c-come from?' he wondered. 'We d-do not have m-m-many cats here. I d-d-d-do not care for cats, as a rule,' he added. 'Too aloof. Cats remind me of my m-m-mother.' Minerva mewed softly and gently head-butted his hand. 'You do not seem terribly distant, however.' The King gave her a final soft pat on the head and unfolded himself to his full height. Minerva sat, tail primly curled over her front paws and watched as he began to walk away down the dark corridor.

Minerva waited until King George had turned a corner before she silently padded to sit just inside Princess Elizabeth's bedroom. To wait for what might come and do whatever was necessary to avert certain disaster.

* * *

Minerva stumbled into the house, aching with weariness. 'Jack?' she called. 'Reggie? Is anybody home?' There was no answer, so she removed her boots and peeled off her uniform jacket. As she walked up the stairs, she unbuttoned the shirt, nearly sighing with relief when she tossed it over the foot of her bed. There were times where she missed wearing robes. Robes that weren't scratchy. She shimmied out of her trousers and pulled her dressing gown from her bag and slipped it over her arms and shoulders, belting it loosely. She didn't intend to wear it very long. A prolonged bath was in order and she was going to take advantage of having the house to herself for the moment. She could see about cobbling together a passable tea later.

Adjusting to the food rations had been a little difficult coming from Hogwarts, but she'd managed to adapt. But baths…

As a prefect, Minerva had had access to the prefects' bathroom – a truly decadent experience, even if one only ever availed themselves of the showers, which were much more spacious than the dormitory showers, and one could even adjust the spray to their personal liking. But the bath was what Minerva missed the most. It was positively enormous, with more hot water than she could ever hope to use. It had the added benefit of never growing cold. There was nothing better after an intense Quidditch match than a stolen hour in that bath. In the Muggle world, there were strict limits on bathwater. Minerva wondered more than once if Queen Elizabeth imposed stricter limits at Windsor to combat rumors that she didn't adhere to the rationing system. But here, in the walls of this house, she could indulge. As she so often had over the last year, Minerva aimed her wand at the bathtub and a stream of hot, steaming water poured from the tip, splashing into the old slipper bath. Once it was full, she let the dressing gown drop to the floor and stepped into the bath with a drawn-out sigh, relaxing for the first time in over four days. She reached over the edge of the bath for her wand and Summoned a towel, flicking her wand a little. The towel unfurled and rolled until it was just the right size to fit between her neck and the back edge of the tub. Minerva closed her eyes and began to drift on the currents of her dreams.

Ever since that afternoon in Diagon Alley and the conversation with Augusta, she let herself contemplate, only in odd moments, of what could be. She could still recall the feel of his lips on hers from that long-ago Christmas Eve. She wanted more. She found herself watching Jack's lips move while he talked, imagining them moving over her body. According to Jack, the weather in San Francisco wasn't that different from London. He had family in California. Parents, a sister, aunts and uncles and cousins. She wouldn't ask him to stay in Britain. They could use magic to travel the distance between Scotland and California. But he could stay here. The house in Scotland was large enough for the two of them and her father. The Ministry needed good Aurors and Jack was everything a good Auror ought to be – calm, focused on his task. He was an excellent teacher. Perhaps one day, he could teach the Defense Against the Dark Arts class at Hogwarts. In her dreams, anything was possible. Even children. Who would grow up speaking English and Gaelic with Jack's dark almond-shaped eyes and her wavy black hair. If they lived in California, they would learn Japanese, too. Minerva was a great believer in remembering one's roots. Even in her dreams, but she was far more of a pragmatist than a dreamer.

And the images running through her head were just that. Dreams. Nothing more.

* * *

Wrapped in her dressing gown, Minerva contemplated the drawer in the small bureau that her underthings. She owned exactly three nightdresses – two rather shapeless garments in cotton and flannel, respectively, and one of a more fanciful style she'd bought on a whim for her anticipated wedding night. It was also made of white cotton, but it had a somewhat fitted sleeveless bodice with a deep V-neck and the skirt, cut on the bias, draped in folds halfway down her shins. It was rather becoming, making even her angular frame look moderately curvaceous. She lifted it from the drawer and shook out its lavender-scented folds. 'No use letting the thing go to waste,' she muttered, dropping her dressing gown and slipping the nightdress over her head. Normally, she would have donned either of her usual ones, but they both needed laundering, a task Minerva hadn't had time for the past week. Magic  _ could _ clean clothes, but it couldn't quite replicate how freshly washed, dried, and pressed garment felt. She retrieved her dressing gown and headed for the kitchen, pulling it on. She didn't bother tying the belt, letting it billow in her wake. For all she knew, neither Reggie, nor Jack, was home.

Minerva pushed the swinging door of the kitchen opened and pulled out her wand at the sight of a man in the dim room. She yanked the tip of the wand toward the ceiling, the arresting the hex on her lips as he turned, revealing himself to be none other than Jack. The sparks emitting from her wand gouged a hole in the plaster and Minerva wasn't sure if she was more annoyed with Jack or with herself, Minerva flicked her wand at the damage, muttering, ' _ Reparo _ .'

'Nice outfit,' Jack said, easing a cork from the mouth of a bottle.

'I beg your pardon?'

Jack set the bottle on the table and fingered the edge of the neckline of Minerva's nightdress. 'I don't recall seeing this before…'

Minerva jerked the dressing gown closed and tied the belt with a square knot. 'That's because ye haven't. And ye willna be seein' it again, aye?' She flipped the ends of her hair from the dressing gown's collar and pushed the sleeves back. 'When did ye get here?'

'About two minutes ago. Reggie's staying at headquarters tonight, so it's just the two of us for dinner. Have you had anything?'

'No. I was about to make something.'

'Reggie went out yesterday and brought back a few things. Raspberries, strawberries, carrots, spinach…' Jack rummaged through a cupboard. 'Asparagus. Picked up our rations for the week, too.'

'Eggs, toast, the berries, and tea?' Minerva ventured. 'I havena the energy to try and eat more than that.'

'Make it coffee and I'll even do the cooking,' Jack replied promptly.

'Make your own coffee,' Minerva stated, pulling the powdered eggs from the cupboard. 'Rinse the berries,' she ordered.

'And…' Jack picked up the bottle. 'We have wine!'

'Why do we have wine?' Minerva inquired, too tired to try and figure out why.

Jack waved the mouth of the bottle under his nose, sniffing appreciatively. 'Decent wine, too. And why? Because it  _ worked _ ! The invasion  _ worked _ . We took that damn strip of beach in Normandy.' He set the bottle down. 'Did you hear me, Minerva? It worked!' he shouted, voice breaking. 'Months of planning and training, then hoping the weather cleared enough so we could do it  _ now _ and not next month… It could be over in Europe by Christmas,' he said joyfully. He pulled his dog tags from inside his shirt and brandished them at her. 'And all four of  _ my _ boys are  _ alive _ .' He held out the dog tag with four names glowing softly on its surface. 'For now.' Jack took a swig from the bottle. 'Not bad. So let's have supper and demolish this wine and celebrate something going right.'

Minerva stared at him for a moment before reaching for the bottle; raising it to her lips and tilting it back, letting the liquid slide down her throat. 'Verra well,' she said.

* * *

'It makes me feel like I'm doing nuthin',' Jack said, eyeing the strawberry he held in his fingers. 'I joined t'  _ do _ somethin', not sit on my ass here.' He gestured wildly at the braided rag rug they occupied in front of the small fireplace.

'Ye  _ are _ doing something,' Minerva pointed out. 'Someone has to oversee things.' She took a pull from the bottle, dimly aware they had already refilled it once and almost needed to repeat the spell, if they wanted to drink more of the wine. Her dressing gown had come loose and Jack's shirt was unbuttoned, exposing the olive drab undershirt. They were both pleasantly lit from the wine.

'Good leaders go with their guys,' Jack explained with exaggerated patience. 'They don't stay behind.'

'Ye're no' going to be happy unless ye're standin' up to your knees in freezin' mud, wi' naught but some bluidy Army rations to your supper, dodgin' German bullets,' Minerva grumbled.

Jack leaned closer. 'Tell me you don't wanna do somethin' like that.' Before Minerva could answer him, he hooked a finger under the chain that suspended her identity discs from her neck. He'd never seen them before. 'W/237282, M. McGonagall,' he read. 'That's it?'

'What else does someone need to know?' Minerva demanded. 'It's my identification number and my name.'

Jack pulled his dog tags from his shirt. 'John Hashimoto. O-8558457 T42 43 B. Kenji Hashimoto. 1505 4th Street. Sacramento, California. NO.'

'And all that clishmaclaver means?' Minerva snorted.

Jack settled so his shoulder nestled next to hers. 'My name. My serial number. The dates I got shot up with a tetanus vaccine. My blood type. My dad as my next of kin, their address in Sacramento. Or what  _ used _ to be their address… I can't very well put Topaz War Relocation Center on it. And no religious preference.'

'Too much bleedin' information,' Minerva stated. She turned her head and her nose brushed against Jack's.

'Why are yours red and green?' Jack asked, tracing the outline of her identity discs.

'Dunno,' she shrugged. 'The rumor going round the ATS is that the colors were supposed t' help the lads in the last war remember which one t' send t' headquarters and which one stayed wi' the body.'

'That's not morbid at all,' Jack drawled sarcastically. He picked up the bottle and drained the last bit of the wine. 'D'you want more?' he asked, holding up the bottle.

Minerva started to shake her head, but fished her wand from the pocket of her dressing gown instead and tapped the bottle. She waited until it was full, then took it from Jack. 'I'll hae a wee dram,' she told him before taking a large swallow.

Jack began to laugh. 'If that's a wee dram, whatever the hell that is, I'd hate t' see a big one.'

Minerva's hand drifted up and her thumb grazed over his lower lip. She wasn't nearly as drunk as she fancied Jack thought she was. She had drunk just enough wine to lower her inhibitions. The ones that held her back from moving forward, had she been inclined to admit it. Minerva closed the space between them and kissed Jack. Startled, he pulled back for a moment, peering at her, before lowering his mouth to hers, threading his fingers into her hair. Minerva twisted, pressing against Jack, hands sliding over his stomach and chest. She pushed his shirt off his shoulders and Jack helpfully removed his hands from her hair so the shirt could fall to the floor. Her hands glided over the smooth, dusky skin of his bared shoulders. He pulled her onto his lap so she straddled his hips, lips skimming over the skin of her throat, coming to rest at the throbbing pulse just above her collarbone. He tugged at the belt of her dressing gown until the loosened knot unraveled and he could spread the edges apart. 'Oh,' he breathed. The fabric of her nightdress was molded closely to her breasts and shoulders. The hem gathered in folds near the apex of her thighs. Jack let his hand fall to one of Minerva's knees, fascinated by the contrast of his pale bronze skin against the creamy alabaster of her inner thigh. Further examination was hindered by her mouth moving insistently against his once more. Minerva's hands dragged the tail of his undershirt from the waistband of his trousers and delved underneath, eager to touch as much of Jack as she could. Jack's stomach jumped as her palm rasped across his body. 'Let me…' Jack reached behind his head and grabbed the back of his undershirt and yanked it over his head, throwing it across the room. He wrapped his free arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His hand burned a path across her back through the fine cotton of her nightdress. Minerva wound her arms around his neck, shifting slightly, Jack's groan muffled against her lips. Jack's questing fingers drifted beneath the edge of the fabric, lifting it away from her shoulder, pressing kisses to the slope of her breast. Minerva's head fell back with a soft sigh and shudder, reveling in the feel of another person's skin caressing against hers, a sensation she hadn't let herself experience, nor remember for nearly two years.

Jack lifted his head and took in her swollen lips, flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes. 'Not here,' he said.

'What?' Minerva inhaled sharply. 'But, I thought ye wanted…'

Jack cupped her face in one hand. 'I do. But I'll be damned if we do this here on the floor when I've got a perfectly good bed up in my room.'

Minerva snorted. 'Och, aye. If it's anythin' like mine, how in Merlin's name d'ye propose to fit both o' us in it?'

Jack lifted her hand to his mouth and slowly kissed the palm, grinning at her. 'You've never seen my bed, have you?'

'I canna say that I have.'

'Come on…' Jack nudged Minerva gently. 'Get up and I'll show you.' Minerva scrambled to her feet. Jack let his hands rest on the backs of her thighs and slid lazily upward. He shifted until he was on his knees, face rubbing over her stomach. He gradually unfolded himself to his full height, just a shade taller than she. 'Shall we?' He twined his fingers through hers and led her up the narrow staircase, to his bedroom, two floors above hers. He shouldered the door open and gestured to the wide bed taking up most of the small room.

'That's almost indecent,' Minerva pronounced, tilting her head to the side.

'Rank has its privileges,' he murmured, sweeping her tumbled hair aside so he could taste the skin at the base of her neck. He let his hands rest lightly on her hips and began to gather the delicate fabric in his fingers, then languidly drew it over her head, draping it over the small chair just inside the door.

Minerva glanced down at her body, then Jack's, completely unconcerned with her nudity. She straightened and traced the buckle of his belt. 'Ye're overdressed.'

Jack laid a shaking hand on her shoulder. 'Yeah…'

Minerva unhurriedly unbuckled his belt and worked on the button-fly of his trousers. 'May I?'

'God, yes…'

She pushed them down and giggled at the boxers he wore underneath. 'Are all your underthings green?'

'That's olive drab to you,' he corrected. 'Are yours just as utilitarian?'

'Ye'll just hae to find out,' Minerva teased.

Jack unbuttoned the three buttons at the waist of his boxers with one hand. 'If it takes me the rest of the war…' Kicking his boxers to the side he propelled Minerva toward his bed and yanked the bedding down. Jack sat on the edge and pulled Minerva down beside him. He brushed her hair from her face and kissed her, shifting and maneuvering until she sprawled underneath his body. His dog tags dangled in her face, lightly swatting her in the nose. Impatiently, Jack flung them over his shoulder to rest between his shoulder blades. He took in a deep breath and slid inside her, bracing himself for the expected resistance, and finding none. His eyes popped open and he stared down at her in surprise for a split second before she wrapped first one leg, then the other around his hips, urging him on. Jack wound his hands through hers, moving with agonizing slowness. It was, he reflected, much better than his previous experiences, with Susie Miyasaki in the backseat of his father's car.

Minerva's back arched and she cried out in Gaelic, her first language and the only one she used in times of deep emotions. ' _ Ian! S math sin… S math sin, Ian… Tha gaol agam ort _ ...'

Jack stilled, still buried inside Minerva and ran a hand over her face, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. 'Wha' was tha?'

Minerva shook her head and tightened her arms and legs around Jack's body and rolled until she straddled him. 'It means ye're doin' a bluidy good job,' she whispered huskily. She bent and kissed him, hips undulating.

Jack wanted it to last longer; all night, forever if possible, but his body betrayed him. He felt his climax coil deep inside. He gripped her hips in his hands and held her while he thrust deeply into her, a throaty shout ripped from his lungs, while Minerva convulsed in his arms, murmuring, ' _ Ian… tha… Ian… _ ' She felt drugged and collapsed against his chest, face buried in his neck. ' _ Tha gaol agam ort, Ian… _ '

'You're goin' t' have t' tell me wha' tha' means,' Jack murmured sleepily. He turned his head on the pillow.

'I told ye. Ye're doin' a bluidy good job.'

Jack stroked Minerva's back, fingers meandering slowly down her spine and back up to the base of her head. 'Thank you.' He stroked her hair for a moment, before saying, 'You weren't a virgin…'

'No.' Minerva carefully eased off Jack's body. 'Does that trouble ye?'

Jack brushed his mouth over hers. 'No.' It was the truth. For all his surprise, it didn't bother him at all.

'It doesna?' she asked in evident consternation.

'No, it doesn't.' Jack wrapped a lock of her hair around his index finger. 'Did you expect me to be one?'

'No…'

'All right, then.' Jack pulled the bedding over them. He drifted off to sleep and Minerva ruefully pulled off her glasses, wondering how on earth they had managed to stay perched on her nose and set them on the table next to the bed. She gazed at Jack, hand resting against his heartbeat, listening to the soft sounds of his breathing in the dark night, hoping the air raid sirens stayed silent. So she could dream about this moment in the harsh light of morning when reality would intrude once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The descriptions of Jack's clothes are based on photographs of American World War II Army uniforms. Minerva's nightdress is based on a vintage 1930s nightdress. If you want an idea of what Jack might look like, look up a picture of Ken Watanabe.
> 
> Dog tags (or "identity discs" as the British called them) have been in use in various forms since the mid-1800s. The Americans introduced metal dog tags in 1906, and in 1916 mandated that each soldier, sailor, or marine had to wear two. If someone died, one tag would remain with the body (on a long chain) and the other tag (on a short chain attached to the long chain) would be returned to headquarters. The information in Jack's dog tags is accurate for someone who joined the armed forces between 1941 and 1943. His serial number is also accurate for World War II. His address is actually located in what was a Japanese neighborhood in Sacramento.
> 
> British identity discs were first issued at the beginning of World War I. They were red and green, with the green tag staying with the body and the red one being sent to headquarters. Identity discs only had the person's identification number, name, and religious preference. The red and green identity discs were issued through Korean War. Minerva's identification number is a real number, assigned to a Phyllis Mary Potter, who died on June 18, 1943, and was buried in Brookwood Military Cemetery in Surrey.
> 
> Operation Overlord, the code name for the Normandy invasion, consisted of a fifty-mile stretch of the Normandy coast between Cherbourg and Le Havre. It was divided into five sections: Utah, Omaha, Sword, Gold, and Juno. Utah and Omaha Beach were assigned to the American forces, and Sword and Gold to British, while Canadians were assigned Juno. Adolf Hitler believed any invasion would occur at Calais and he dismissed the idea that they Allies would try at Normandy. French Resistance members would feed German officers false information about a possible Allied invasion.
> 
> Ian! S math sin… S math sin, Ian… Tha gaol agam ort… – Ian is the Scots Gaelic for John; S math sin means great or terrific, Tha gaol agam ort is I love you. Not being a Gaelic speaker, I humbly ask if I've gotten anything wrong, please PM me, and let me know what's correct.
> 
> Copy that – I heard you.
> 
> Roger – I understood you
> 
> Wilco – I will comply
> 
> So what Tony says is: I heard you, I understood you, and I will comply.


	9. An Interlude Too Brief

Minerva carefully lifted Jack's arm from where it rested over her waist and eased out of the bed. She padded quietly across the room, picking up her nightdress and pulled it over her head, glancing once more at the rumpled bed. Jack continued to sleep, unaware of her actions. Minerva stole down the stairs and collected a change of clothing from her bedroom, then back up to the bathroom. She closed the door and filled the bathtub, trying to think about anything than what had occurred in Jack's bed. Regret tickled the edge of her thoughts, but not in a way one might think. It could never happen again. They had stirred as the clock downstairs chimed midnight, cocooned in the bedding. They talked in bare murmurs, as if anything louder would shatter the night, making love slowly, savoring each brush of fingertips against skin.

She quickly stepped into the bathtub and sank until her chin touched the surface of the water. The overwhelming sense of guilt hadn't seized her until she woke up several minutes ago. Minerva slid under the water, hoping she could blot out the emotions she had tried so hard to control.

* * *

Jack yawned and stretched, expecting to encounter Minerva's warm body, but only encountered a cold pillow. 'Min?' He sat up, rubbing his eyes, then glanced around the room. Her nightdress was gone and the only testament to her presence in his bed was the indentation in the other pillow. Jack swung his feet to the floor and found his cast-off boxers and pulled them up over his legs as he walked onto the landing. He peeked into Minerva's bedroom, but it was empty. As was the sitting room and kitchen. 'All right, where are you?' Jack muttered. She wasn't due back at Windsor until the day after tomorrow, and he doubted she would have gone home to her father without a word or a note. She was much more responsible than that. He heard a sound suspiciously like dripping water. 'Should have looked there first,' he grumbled, darting up the stairs to the bathroom. 'Always goes in there to think…' He knocked on the door. 'Minerva? Are you in there?' he called.

Minerva glanced at the door and considered testing how long she could hold her breath and stay underwater. 'What do ye want?'

'Why'd you get up?'

'I wanted a bath.'

Jack set his teeth in his lip and felt a moment of pride for not banging his head against the wall. 'You could have woken me up. I would have joined you.'

'Alone,' Minerva said pointedly.

Jack frowned at the door. 'Minerva, what's wrong?' There was no answer, so Jack tried the door. It was, of course, locked. 'Minerva, you can't sit in there and stew all day.'

'And ye canna stand out there and make bad puns all day!' she retorted tartly.

'Min, let me in, so we can talk…' Jack waited a moment, listening for the  _ click _ of the lock. 'You know, Minerva, I can just _Alohomora_ the door open. I've could do it verbally since I was twelve and nonverbally since I was fourteen! I can even blast the goddamned thing off its hinges!' He paused. 'And it's not like I haven't seen you naked!'

'If I let ye in will ye stop talkin'?'

'Can't promise that!' Jack braced his hands on the doorframe. 'I really don't want to yell at you through the door!' he pleaded. Sighing, Minerva reached over the side of the bathtub for her wand and flicked it almost disdainfully at the door. It opened a bare inch. Jack slipped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. 'May I?' he asked, gesturing toward her wand.

Minerva's fingers tightened on the handle. 'Why?'

'So I can lock the door. Reggie's due home this morning, and I don't think he'd survive walking in here and seeing us like this.'

'Where's your wand?' Minerva asked archly.

'On the rug in front of the fire, if I recall.'

'Fine,' she huffed, handing it to Jack.

He swiftly waved it in a complicated series of movements. 'There. Reggie can't get in. Not even if he wanted to.' He gave her back the wand and crouched on the floor next to the bathtub. 'Okay. Now. What's wrong?'

'Nothing.'

'Do you regret what we did?'

'No…' Minerva admitted in a small voice. 'I was just thinkin', aye?'

Jack thumbed a lock of dark, wet hair away from her eyes. 'Okay?'

'Ye wouldna understand.'

'Try me.'

Minerva hunched, drawing her knees into her chest, wrapping her arms around them. 'It's complicated,' she allowed.

'All right.' Jack reached to touch the back of her hand, but Minerva shrank away. Abruptly, he rose and unbuttoned his boxer shorts and kicked them off. 'Scoot up,' he ordered, nudging her shoulder none-too-gently, then stepped into the bath behind her. It was then that he noticed her left hand was bare. It spoke volumes without saying nary a word. She never took that ring off, he'd noticed. She had, however, moved it to her right hand. 'Nobody's going to ask you to forget him,' Jack stated softly, murmuring into her hair.

Minerva barked with bitter laughter. 'I didna think o' him even once last night.'

'Oh.' Jack grabbed the face cloth draped over the edge of the bath and dipped it into the gently steaming water, then squeezed it over her stiff shoulders. 'I see.'

'No, ye don't,' Minerva corrected acerbically. 'What happened between you and me wouldna hae happened wi' him.'

Truly confused, Jack's brow furrowed. 'But I thought you and he had…'

'Och, aye. We did. I meant what happened after. The talking.'

Jack wordlessly coaxed Minerva to lean against his chest. 'Now I really am confused,' he told her.

'He didna know I'm a witch.'

'You were planning to tell him, weren't you?'

'When he came home and we could be married,' Minerva sighed. 'I didna want to tell him before he left. It isna somethin' ye drop on a Muggle, aye?'

'Fair enough.'

'And if he wanted to end it after knowin' about me…' She shrugged expansively. 'I've been in here since I woke up, thinkin', wonderin' really, if I did love him or…'

'Mmmm.' Jack treated her like a skittish kitten, keeping his movements slow and deliberate while he encouraged her to speak, studying her fingers. They were quite wrinkled from soaking in the water for so long.

'Can a witch or wizard truly love a Muggle and vice-versa?' Minerva asked in a harsh tone. 'He – Alasdair – was an intelligent man, but would he hae been able to understand my ambitions?'

'You never quite gave him the chance,' Jack said pointedly.

'I ken that, aye?' she hissed. Minerva's head turned toward the wall. 'But even if he'd survived, and decided to stay wi' me after he knew about my magic, what would I hae been able to share wi' him?' she demanded, her voice tortured. 'No matter what I did, he'd be a permanent outsider.'

'You could have broken your wand and lived as a Muggle,' Jack offered, playing devil's advocate.

Minerva straightened with an angry splash. 'I could no more do somethin' mad like that than teach a pig to play the pipes,' she exclaimed indignantly. 'It would be akin to… to… cuttin' off my left arm because I'm right-handed!'

'Obviously people make it work,' Jack said. 'Look at Theo Grevas and his wife, Amelia. Or for that matter, all the witches and wizards that have married Muggles for the last several centuries. Or how Muggle-born witches and wizards get along with their families. Nobody could have predicted how he might have taken the news that you've got all these special talents and abilities. And if he would have let that drive him away, then he was a damn fool.' Jack paused let his hands rest on her tense shoulders. 'For all the guessing you're doing right now, you might as well ask how many angels can fit on the head of a pin.'

'That's just ridiculous,' she told him.

'Exactly.' Jack slid an arm around her waist. 'You can argue about what might have been until you're blue in the face. Look, I'm not asking you to forget he ever existed. I'd never ask that of you. And I'm not asking for anything you're not willing to give me.'

Minerva nodded, and pulled away from Jack as much as she could in the cramped confines of the bath. 'It…' She hesitated, trying to gather her thoughts together. 'There is so much I can tell ye and do wi' ye. And I canna help but think I would hae to wi'hold parts o' myself from Alasdair,' she went on as if Jack hadn't spoken. 'That is what bothers me.' She gracefully unfolded herself and stepped from the bath, donning her dressing gown without bothering to towel off the water that dripped from her skin. It clung damply to her body. She spun, nearly falling over, and pressed a fleeting kiss to his mouth. 'As for last night…' A frown creased her features. 'I canna promise anything more.' She tried to open the door, but it was locked. Jack leaned over the side of the bath, and picked up her wand, waving it languidly at the door. It clicked open softly and he held the wand out to her. She snatched it away from him and marched from the bathroom, head held high.

* * *

Reggie opened the front door, reeling from exhaustion. He had been able to put a version of the age Trace on several Muggle soldiers, tied to a common phrase they used, enabling his unit to track their movements. He hadn't slept in nearly two days, and was looking forward to several hours alone with his bed. Until the glint of lamplight on something caught his eye. Reggie peered into the sitting room, a groan escaping from his lips. He stalked into the room, eyeing the mess with more than a little distaste. Two plates littered the hearth, covered with the dried remains of scrambled eggs. It would be a pain to scrub them, even with magic. Desiccated crusts of toast, wilted strawberry hulls, and a half-empty bottle of wine completed the picture, crowned with Jack's wand. A discarded shirt hung off the sofa. Reggie picked it up, noting Jack's name stenciled on it, undershirt peeking out from underneath the sofa itself. He pocketed Jack's wand, intending to give it to Jack on his way to bed, covering his eyes with a hand. 'I do not want to know what happened…' he sighed. The only thing he wanted to even consider was that Jack and Minerva had eaten dinner down here, had too much wine and gone to bed. Preferably alone.

Not that he would mind if Jack and Minerva embarked on something of a relationship. It would be something of a relief. They'd been tiptoeing around each other for almost a year. He just didn't want to actually see the evidence. Reggie realized he'd have to start knocking on Jack's door. Minerva's bedroom was hardly larger than a closet, and her camp bed, bureau, and a chair barely fit as it was, and they were under strict orders not to modify the house with magic. And if it were up to him, he wouldn't want to try and do the jitterbug in Minerva's narrow bed, either.

If pressed, Reggie would actually admit to liking Minerva, despite their early abrasiveness toward one another. Given how she had been saddled with the task of becoming an Animagus, something most witches and wizards didn't bother to even attempt, she took it on with a zeal Reggie only saw in Jack. And if she made Jack happy, Reggie didn't feel he was one to argue with that.

He contemplated the sitting room and gnawed his lower lip. If he cleaned the admittedly minor mess, it would tip off the other two that he knew. It would mortify Minerva. Reggie decided to leave everything as it was. 'Ain't cleanin' up after them, anyway,' he huffed, letting Jack's wand fall back to the floor. 'Serve him right if I hid it,' he said to the empty room. 'Leavin' his things layin' around like that.' A decidedly wicked smile lit Reggie's face. 'On second thought…' He bent and scooped up Jack's wand. 'Let him worry about it for a bit.'

'Let him worry about what?' Jack asked, running a hand through his damp hair. It stuck up in clumps around his ears.

'Nothin'.' Reggie smiled innocently, and slid Jack's wand into the back pocket of his trousers. 'You're looking indecently healthy this mornin',' he said, gratified when Jack's cheeks colored in response.

'Just had a good night's sleep,' Jack mumbled, glancing at the floor. 'Seen my wand?'

'Not lately.'

'Could have sworn I left it here…' Jack began crawling on the floor searching under the sofa. 'Want breakfast before you head up to bed? I'll cook it…' he said distractedly. 'Damn it, damn it, damn it…' He looked up at Reggie, a small grin playing across Reggie's wide mouth. 'What?'

'I'll just go get some coffee goin'.'

'Great…' Jack rose to his knees. 'I knew it was here when I went up last night.'

'I'll help ya look for it later,' Reggie sighed. 'After I get some coffee in me.' He adjusted his jacket so it hid the wand. 'Probably right under your nose.'

'Yeah.' Jack gazed around the room unhappily. It was the wand he'd had since he started school at the age of eleven. Willow with unicorn hair. His grandmother had been most pleased. A willow, she told him, might look weak, with its drooping branches, but it was a survivor. It would bend in the strongest winds and never break. And strength was knowing when to bend with the winds and when to take a stand. It was a part of his hand, nearly. It seemed to intuitively know what he wanted. It would make Jack extraordinarily unhappy to lose it. And as much as he had enjoyed his foray into Ollivander's, he didn't think he'd be able to find a suitable successor for his beloved wand. 'I'll look some more after breakfast.'

* * *

The owl swooped through the open window and dropped an envelope on Minerva's half-eaten breakfast. 'Ruddy beast,' she muttered mutinously, glaring at the haughty barn owl. 'Ye did that deliberately,' she accused it. The owl merely ruffled its feathers.

'Nice bird,' Reggie snorted. The owl's eyes narrowed at him, and Reggie could have sworn the owl actually snorted at him.

'No, it isn't,' Minerva said. 'It's Da's owl. Name of Fergus.' The owl preened at the sound of his name. 'Enjoys droppin' my post on my plate. Especially in somethin' sticky. Like jam.' Fergus hooted. Minerva suspected he was laughing at her. She wouldn't put it past him. She wiped eggy residue off the edge of the envelope and began to open it. Fergus hooted imperiously at her. 'I dinna hae anythin' for ye,' she told him. 'We're on rations.'

Reggie tore off the crusts of his slice of toast and held them out to Fergus. 'Here. You can have this.' The owl amused him. That alone was worth something.

Minerva pulled out the letter inside the envelope and a pungent Gaelic oath dropped from her lips. 'Da's comin' for a visit,' she announced. 'Hopin' to stay for a few days.'

'He can sleep in my room,' Reggie offered. 'Especially since Tony and Frankie ain't here. I can sleep on that couch in the other room for a couplea days.'

'He'll be here on Sunday,' Minerva said over the edge of the letter. Another string of Gaelic obscenities fell from her lips. 'I'm back at Windsor on Saturday until Monday mornin'.' She gestured to the collection of cobwebs and dust in the corners.

'Don't worry, we'll clean up,' Jack said hurriedly. 'We can do it.' He drained his coffee. 'As soon as I find my wand…'

Several hours later, after Jack had looked under every bed in the house, every chair, every bureau, turned out countless drawers, and rooted through all his clothing; as he sat on the top stair cursing in a hodge-podge of English and Japanese, something dangled in front of his face. 'Missing something?' Reggie drawled. Jack's head snapped back and his nose bumped into the tip of his wand.

'Where did you find it?' he yelled.

'On that rug in front of the fire this mornin'. Oughta be more careful with your stuff,' Reggie instructed smugly.

Jack snatched the wand from where Reggie held it levitating over his head. 'Thanks.' He polished the fingerprints from the shaft with his shirttail and slowly raised his head. 'You had it all along, didn't you?'

'You're lucky I didn't put a Disillusionment charm on it,' Reggie said by way of a reply. 'Pretty careless of ya,  _ Captain _ .'

'Go to hell,' Jack said pleasantly.

Minerva emerged from her bedroom, with an armful of clothing. 'I hope the two of ye dinna intend to do that when Da's here.'

Reggie grinned guilelessly. 'I don't think it's me an' Jack you gotta worry about,' he said knowingly, gratified to see roses bloom in her cheeks. 'I'm turnin' in. I really wanna sleep until breakfast tomorrow, so keep it down.' He marched into his bedroom, whistling softly.

'He knows,' Minerva breathed, as soon as the door closed behind Reggie.

'Oh, I'd bet on it,' Jack agreed. 'He's going to be a holy terror when your dad's here.'

* * *

Minerva lay in bed, idly tapping her fingers against the wool blanket draped over her chest. Last night had been one of the best nights of sleep she'd had since Alasdair joined the army. Perhaps Augusta was right in that she needn't remain alone for the rest of her life. After all, Alasdair was dead and he wasn't going to come walking through the door. Was a year enough time to move on with her life? Or was it too unseemly? Either way, they weren't questions she was going to be able to answer alone. However, she wasn't about to openly make the trek two floors up and risk having Reggie see her. As the clock downstairs struck midnight, Minerva grinned mischievously and dropped her dressing gown and nightdress to the floor, then transformed and nosed her way through the gap between the door frame and her door. She quietly padded up the stairs, an amused purr rumbling through her throat. No wonder Animagi were required to register with the Ministry. She was amazed at the amount of mischief she could contemplate, now that she had this specialized skill. She crept into Jack's bedroom and lightly leapt to the foot of the bed. He snorted and flopped to his back. Minerva paced up the bed and crawled on Jack's chest, tucking her feet under her. She reached out and nuzzled his nose with hers, whiskers twitching. Jack's hand drifted up and began to stroke her back. 'When did we get a cat?' he murmured hazily. Suddenly, the cat's weight shifted and lengthened, and his hand rested on Minerva's bare back. 'Jesus H. Christ!' he shouted in alarm.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, and Jack instinctively pushed Minerva unceremoniously off his body and quickly tapped her on the top of her head. She shimmered and disappeared. Fortunately, the bedding was mussed enough so that the indentation she made in the mattress wasn't very noticeable. Reggie burst through the door, wand aloft, tip already glowing. 'What? What?'

'Bad dream,' Jack explained breathlessly. 'Just… I'm okay.'

'Don't yell like that,' Reggie complained. 'Woke me up…'

'Sorry.'

'Night…' Reggie retreated and closed the door behind him.

Jack removed the charm on Minerva and frowned down at her. She had her fist stuffed in her mouth to stifle her giggles. 'I ought to spank you,' he growled.

'I'd like to see ye try,' Minerva retorted cheerfully.

Jack pinned her to the bed, flinging his dog tags over his shoulder. 'Still going to make you pay for that little stunt, kitty-cat.' He lowered his mouth to the delicate skin under her ear. 'Starting here…' He paused, lips grazing against her neck. 'Remember. Don't wake up Reggie.'

'I willna,' Minerva promised. 'Canna say the same about you.'

* * *

The clock's chimes were lost to both of them. Jack didn't know what time it was when he dragged a hand down Minerva's back. She stared at him with wide, unblinking eyes. 'Is it wrong for me t' be here?'

'You're asking the wrong person. I don't seem to be making you leave.'

'It isna too soon?'

Jack sighed and ran his hand over the back of her head. 'If it was me… If I had a girl back home – and I don't!' he added quickly. 'I wouldn't expect her to wear black for years for me if I were killed over here. I didn't know your guy, but I can't imagine he'd expect you to, either.' Minerva shrugged, face growing pensive. 'Tell me about him,' he urged. He wasn't exactly keen on hearing Minerva speak of another man while she occupied his bed, but obviously, Alasdair MacDonald weighed heavily on her mind.

Minerva's shoulders hitched. 'There isna much to tell. There is, but…'

'What did he look like?'

'Tall. Taller than ye are. Brown eyes. Red-brown hair. Liked to wear a kilt now and again.'

'Nothing says manliness like a man in a plaid skirt,' Jack hooted softly.

'It isna a skirt!' Minerva protested indignantly.

'Oh, calm down,' Jack chuckled. 'Just making a joke.'

'A verra poor one.'

'So what else?'

'Orphaned. Father died before the war, and his mam died in the Blitz. A braw and bonny lad, he was.' She heaved a sigh, softer than a spring breeze. 'Was. It doesna quite pain me so to speak o' him now.'

'And that plaid thing you wear when it's cold?'

'It was his. Left it to me.' Her chin trembled momentarily. 'Had a letter sent to me when he died.' She held up her right hand. 'The ring symbolizes friendship, loyalty, and love. He mentioned it in the letter. To the end.'

'No wonder you're torn,' Jack mused. 'He didn't make it clear, did he? Not much better than that Professor Dumbledore you look up to so much.'

'That isna fair,' Minerva objected.

'Neither is making you think you're making some sort of horrible mistake.' Jack traced her lower lip with his thumb. 'Does it  _ feel _ like a mistake? Someone who can look as deeply into themselves to become an Animagus ought to be able to figure that out.'

Minerva's eyes closed and she pressed herself against Jack. 'Not in this moment, nor within these four walls,' she allowed.

Jack said nothing, but feathered a soft kiss over her mouth. It was a start.

* * *

Minerva rubbed her gritty eyes under the lenses of her glasses. Edward Hawley, her supervisor, had sent her home from Windsor a bit early. She wasn't scheduled for relief until the following morning, but two days earlier, the Germans began bombing Britain once again in retaliation for the Normandy invasion and no one had slept since it started. It was D+9, according to Jack, but to everyone else, it was June fifteenth. The bombs had been intermittent at first, but steadily increased. They were rather frightening in that the Germans didn't need an aeroplane to bring them to Britain. They could launch them across the formidable English Channel. Furthermore, just before they landed, their motorbike sputtering suddenly died and they fell with a deadly silence. The air raid sirens blared every night since, and her father hadn't been pleased about going into a shelter.

Flickering lights glowed over the horizon, and Minerva studied them carefully. They seemed to come from the same area as the house. Her steps quickened until she sprinted down the dark streets, toward that orange glimmer. She skidded to a halt at the end of the street, mouth falling open. The side of their house was in flames. 'No…' she breathed, praying Jack, Reggie, and her father were safely in the Underground shelter.

'Sirens didn't sound,' an elderly neighbor commented. 'That lot doesn't leave unless it does.'

Minerva's body stiffened, and she ducked in the shadows, transforming into her Animagus form. She darted through the gathered crowd and ran into the broken-in front door. Once inside, she cast several charms to protect herself from the flames licking at the walls. 'Da!' she screamed. 'Da! Reggie! Jack! Answer me!' She looked wildly around. 'Da!' she shrieked. The bottom of the stairs was engulfed, so Minerva Apparated to Reggie, Tony, and Frankie's bedroom. It was empty.  _ Maybe they got out… _ she thought desperately, Apparating to Jack's bedroom. It, too, was unoccupied. She Apparated to the sitting-room, then the kitchen. The wall that faced the back garden was a pile of rubble. 'Da! Jack! Reggie!'

A groan worked its way through the noise. Minerva spun around. Angus lay on the floor, half-buried by shattered bricks. She Banished the broken masonry away and stroked Angus' tangled hair from his face. 'Dinna fret, Da. I'll get ye out…' She tapped him with her wand, levitating him just enough so she could slip her arms around his broad chest. 'I'm goin' t' Side-Along ye.' Angus didn't reply, but Minerva Apparated them to the front door, pausing long enough to set charms on Angus. She dragged him bodily to the street, ignoring the milling crowd. 'Da…' She shook him vigorously. 'Da…' Undaunted, she began to attempt the artificial respiration she dredged up from the ATS. 'Come on, Da… If ye dinna wake up, I will kill ye!'

A neighbor gently picked up Angus' wrist, searching for a pulse. 'I don' think he's goin' to be hearin' you, luv.'

'No…' Minerva's hands fisted in the front of Angus' robes. Her voice broke. 'Da… Dinna leave me… I canna lose ye as well…'


	10. Reprieve

Septimus Weasley studied the young woman sitting on the hard straight-backed chair. She wore drab Muggle clothing, hair in tangled disarray, soot streaking her face. She stared straight ahead, unblinking. He could hear a man's urgent tones coming through the partially-open door of the Head Auror's office. Septimus wondered what had happened to her. Bernard Aubrey, the Auror Head, walked out with the American wizard Septimus had seen about the Ministry, wearing the uniform of one of the American Muggle armed forces. Septimus normally paid Muggle politics little mind, but even he couldn't stay blissfully unaware of the war raging on the Continent. 'We need a place to stay,' Jack persisted. 'In London.'

'Why does it have to be London?' Aubrey asked in bemusement.

'Because we stand out less in London than we would anywhere else,' Jack sighed. 'Nobody is going to give Reggie or me a second look here.' He ran a hand over his face, smudging the traces of soot over his cheeks. 'Well, not much of one, at any rate.'

'It will take a few days to organize something,' Aubrey said stiffly.

'Where do you propose Minerva and I sleep until then?'

'She has a house in Scotland.'

Jack refrained from punching the older man in the nose, unable to comprehend how someone could be so insensitive. 'I don't think she'll want to stay there,' he said in an undertone.

Septimus spoke up. 'They could stay with us. Cedrella and I have all those empty bedrooms.'

Two heads turned simultaneously and gazed at the welcome intrusion of their conversation. 'Where do you live?' Jack asked brusquely.

'Ottery-St.-Catchpole,' Septimus said. 'Small village in Devon,' he added at the blank look that crossed Jack's face. 'My house has four bedrooms and only two of them are in use at the moment. I'm certain my wife won't mind.' Septimus glanced at the young woman, sitting so still in the chair, eyes locked on something they couldn't see. 'And it's quiet,' he said softly, leaning closer to Jack. 'Pardon my saying so, but the young lady looks as if she might need a few days of quiet.'

Jack spared a glance for Minerva and nodded. 'Yeah.' He held out a grimy hand, surprised when Septimus grasped it and shook it firmly without hesitation. 'Jack Hashimoto. Before the war, I was an Auror.'

'Septimus Weasley. Accidental Magic Reversal Department.'

Jack tilted his head toward Minerva. 'Minerva McGonagall. She's part of the rotation of witches that guard the Queen.' He paused and lowered his voice even more. 'Her father's just been killed by one of the German bombs…'

'I _can _hear ye,' came a clearly irritated voice behind them.

Jack turned to find Minerva glaring at him like the angry cat she could be. He started guiltily and pressed his lips together. 'Do you mind staying with him?'

Weariness etched itself over Minerva's face and she shook her head. 'Ye're right. I couldna go… Home…'

'I'll just go collect my things,' Septimus said quickly. 'Then I'll take you to the Burrow.'

'Thanks,' Jack said sincerely. He took the chair next to Minerva and looked down at his hands. Deep gouges streaked across the backs of them. He had attempted to drag her away from Angus' body and she had fought him tooth and nail. 'Reggie's going to be all right,' he murmured. 'He's in that hospital of yours…'

'St. Mungo's.'

'Yeah.'

They sat silently until Septimus returned to the office. 'I thought I might Side-Along you,' he said cautiously. 'I imagine you might not care for the Floo just now.'

'That's all right.' Jack stood and held out a hand to Minerva. She stared at it a moment before taking it. She retrieved the small case that traveled with her between London and Windsor and joined Jack next to Septimus. At her nod, Septimus led them down the corridor and held out his arm. Minerva and Jack each grasped it tightly and Septimus began to turn. Jack held his breath, not daring to breathe until the mutters of the Ministry and been replaced by the sounds of birds twittering in the trees.

Septimus gestured to a tall, crooked house. 'I'll take you inside. Dinner won't be ready for a bit, so you'll have time to wash…'

'I appreciate you doing this for us,' Jack told him.

'It's not a problem at all,' Septimus reassured him.

A small, red-headed boy pelted down the slightly overgrown garden. 'Daddy! Daddy!'

Septimus knelt with his arms spread wide. 'Nattie!' He swept the little boy up, nuzzling his bright flyaway hair. Septimus touched his forehead to his son's. 'Would you like to meet someone? Mr. Hashimoto, Miss McGonagall, this is my oldest, Ignatius. We call him Nattie. Nat, most of the time. Nat, this is Mr. Hashimoto and Miss McGonagall. They're going to stay with us for a couple of days.'

Ignatius peered shyly around his father's shoulder. Jack held out his hand and Ignatius bashfully shook it, then yanked his hand away as if he'd been burnt. Ignatius poked his first finger into his mouth and pillowed his head on his father's shoulder. 'Come on,' Septimus murmured. He walked through the back door of the house into a sunny kitchen.

Jack came to a sudden halt, making Minerva walk into him. 'Do you smell that?' he breathed, inhaling the savory aroma of roasting meat, making his mouth water. 'Roast beef…' He spun around. 'When was the last time we had meat like that?'

'Christmas,' she replied, lips tightening as she did so.

A small woman turned at the sound of the intrusion, revealing a rather visible pregnancy. Septimus placed a hand on her shoulder. 'Cedrella, this is Jack Hashimoto and Minerva McGonagall. They'll be staying with us for a few days.' Cedrella's mouth opened then shut as she saw Minerva's carefully set face, heavily smudged with soot.

She waved her wand at the pot on the stove and a wooden spoon floated into it and began it stir the soup burbling in it, and then beckoned to the younger woman. 'Come with me,' Cedrella ordered quietly. 'I'll show you where you can at least have a bit of a wash before dinner.' She led Minerva up three flights of narrow stairs. 'Miss McGonagall, is it?'

'Ye can call me Minerva.'

'I'm afraid I haven't anything that would fit you without a great deal of alteration,' Cedrella commented lightly. 'But if you'll give me a moment or two, I might be able to get you into something decent.' She eyed the drab ATS uniform, then added, 'Well, clean, at any rate. And I can have your things laundered in the morning.'

'Thank you.' Minerva usually detested idle chatter, but she appreciated Cedrella's chatter just now. It meant she had something else on which to focus, and not the sight of her father's body being loaded into a Ministry vehicle.

Cedrella paused on the landing and motioned to the closed door of the bathroom. 'Just through there. Face cloths and towels are on the shelf in the corner. I'll leave the clothes for you outside the door. No need to rush. Dinner can wait.'

Minerva nodded wordlessly and slipped into the bathroom. She didn't recognize the person reflected in the mirror gazing back at her, eyes wide and staring. She twisted the taps and filled the washbasin with water, steam rising gently from its surface, while she picked up a face cloth and a towel. She dipped her hands into the water and picked up the cake of soap sitting in pristine splendor next to the taps. She worked up a lather with the soap and carefully washed her face until all the traces of tears, ash, and soot were gone. Minerva washed her hands, carefully cleaning the grime from under her broken nails. Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, inhaling sharply through her nose, as she peeked out of the bathroom and spied the pile of obviously altered clothing. A dress similar to the one residing in the bureau – assuming the charms on her bedroom worked – sat just outside the door. Minerva picked it up and retreated back into the relative safety of the room. She swiftly removed her uniform, and wrung out the face cloth before swiping it over the rest of her body. The acrid scent of smoke lingered in her hair, but Minerva didn't feel up to the task of trying to wash it in the washbasin. She supposed she could have a proper bath after dinner and wash it then.

Minerva gathered her filthy clothing and padded down to the kitchen, standing uncertainly in the doorway. Cedrella glanced up from her attempts to work Ignatius into his high chair and jerked her head toward the scullery. 'Just toss them into the basket on the table there,' she told her.

'Mrs. Weasley, I –'

'Cedrella,' the other woman interrupted. 'Mrs. Weasley is my mother-in-law.'

'Cedrella…' Minerva took a deep breath. 'I thank ye for your hospitality,' she began formally.

'Minerva, it is quite all right, I assure you.' She pushed Ignatius to the table with an audible sigh.

Minerva studied Cedrella for a moment. Some of her traits were too unmistakable to be denied – the dark eyes, patrician features, even the swirling dark hair. 'I beg your pardon, but aren't you a Black?'

'Was,' Cedrella corrected softly. 'I _was_.' Her hand floated up to rest on the side of her swollen abdomen.

'How did you manage to marry a Weasley?' Minerva blurted unthinkingly. Cedrella stilled and gazed at her with typical Black hauteur. Minerva linked her fingers together in front of her, twisting them slightly. 'My apologies,' she murmured. 'I dinna mean to pry…'

Cedrella turned her head to the window, where she could see Jack and Septimus approaching the house from the tool shed where Jack had gone to perform his own ablutions. A smile touched the corner of her mouth. 'Septimus gave me the freedom to laugh. And love.' She ran a gentle hand over Ignatius' bright head. 'That's how.' She gestured to a stack of plates and cutlery. 'Would you set the table?' she asked, deliberately changing the subject, returning to the stove. 'Septimus told me about your father,' she said quietly. 'You have my condolences.'

Minerva set a plate on the table with a soft _thump_. 'I thank ye.'

* * *

Jack covertly watched as Minerva picked at her dinner. It told him volumes that he was certain she'd never reveal – not even within the sanctuary of his bed. She exhaled slowly and neatly laid the cutlery across her plate and pushed it away a few inches. 'Excuse me,' she said softly and rose before anyone could say a word, then fled to the back garden.

Cedrella aimed her wand at a tea towel, dampening it, and with a casual flick, warmed the wet cloth. She began to wipe Ignatius' face, while Septimus cleared the table and sent the dishes to the drainboard. Jack pulled out his wand and aimed it at the stack of dishes. 'Let me,' he said with alacrity.

'It's not necessary for you to…' Cedrella began, but the wave of Jack's hand cut her off.

'It's absolutely necessary,' he stated. 'Minerva and I are causing extra work for you.' Jack stood and strode to the drainboard, directing dishes into the steaming, soapy water.

'Thank you,' Cedrella said. She sighed and pushed herself to her feet, lifting Ignatius from the high chair. 'I'll just go and give Nat his bath.' She shot Septimus a look, with a tilt of her head toward Jack and another in the direction of the garden. Septimus rolled his eyes and glanced at Jack, oblivious to the wordless conversation that passed between husband and wife. Cedrella's eyes widened and Septimus shooed her away with a flapping motion of his hands. She tossed her head and carried Ignatius up the stairs, leaving the two men alone in the kitchen.

Septimus picked up a dry tea towel and began to dry the steadily growing stack of clean dishes. 'Where did you live before coming here?'

'Near the Chancery Lane Underground station,' Jack said.

Septimus smiled. 'I meant before you came to England.'

'California. Sacramento.'

'What's it like?' Septimus asked curiously.

'A bit boring,' Jack replied with a slight chuckle. 'But it's home… I was training in New York when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor,' he added.

'How long have you been working with the Ministry here?'

'We started working with them in nineteen forty-two,' Jack sighed. 'Then we came over in forty-three and started planning the invasion of France. It's been roughly two years.'

'Have you thought about staying on here?' Septimus wondered aloud. 'It's just I've seen the way you look at Miss McGonagall, and I thought you might want to stay here.'

'Absolutely not,' Jack said flatly.

'Really?' Septimus said innocently. 'The Ministry could use someone like you…'

Jack snorted. 'I'd rather not. Your Ministry is…' He hesitated, then turned his attention to the pot that plopped into the soapy water.

'Go on,' Septimus encouraged.

Jack shook the water from his hands. 'Your Ministry is hide-bound. Determined to keep doing things the old way, because why bother changing with the times? They see no need because it's been working for centuries.' He took a deep breath, and charged ahead. 'There's no incentive for them to adapt. No one's accountable. Your Auror Head? He balked every time we wanted to embed wizards into the invasion force. He couldn't see the value of having them there. It took the Minister for the French Resistance government, the American Minister, as well as the Ministers from Poland, Holland, and Belgium to convince him it was their only chance to get the Germans out. Do you know how corrupt your government really is? Some asshole named Malfoy keeps poking his nose in our business, and he's not even employed by the Ministry. He's constantly giving your Minister or MLE Head small "gifts". Bribes, if you ask me. And what I've seen in the past two years is more restrictions on non-humans and attempts to criminalize Muggle-born witches and wizards.'

'That's about right,' Septimus sighed. 'But someone like you… Someone from the outside…'

'Why do you want someone like me to stay?' Jack asked pointedly.

'Anyone with half an eye could see it. The Ministry's in trouble. It will not take much to send it into chaos. If not in my lifetime, then most likely in my children's.' He shrugged and placed the last dish in the cupboard. 'Just something to consider. Change only occurs from within.'

Jack wrung out the dishcloth and wiped the drainboard with it. In spite of the way the American government treated him and his family, he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. 'There are still things to change back home, too,' he said softly. He glanced out of the window while he draped the dishcloth over the edge of the sink and saw Minerva's outline silhouetted against the sunset. 'If you'll excuse me…?'

'Jack.' Septimus' voice halted Jack's steps. 'First floor. The door on the right. It's the larger of the two.' Septimus cleared his throat, cheeks flushed slightly and pointed his wand at the lamp suspended over the table. The light dimmed considerably, throwing the kitchen into shadows. 'Good night.'

Jack strode across the garden until he reached the stone wall. Minerva perched on the edge, the toes of her shoes brushing the top of the grass that grew against it. His hands rose and he rested them gently on her shoulders. They quivered with unreleased tension and Jack stepped forward until his chest rested against her back. His arms slipped from her shoulders to wrap around her waist. She resisted for a moment, then swung her feet over the wall to face him, a crease etched between her brows. Jack rubbed his the tip of his index finger over it, attempting to smooth it away. Minerva blinked rapidly, trying to stem the unbidden tide of emotion that rose through her throat. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and slid down over the slope of her cheekbones. Jack gathered her close, murmuring nonsense into her ear, while the shoulder of his shirt grew damp with her tears.


	11. Commitments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minerva buries her father and contemplates a life outside Britain.

Minerva strode down the corridor of St. Mungo's, looking straight ahead. Her ATS uniform, which Cedrella Weasley had helpfully cleaned and pressed just the day before, attracted numerous inquisitive glances and more than one outright hostile glare. So intent was she on reaching the lift that would take her to the first floor where Reggie was recuperating from his injuries; that she failed to notice the skeletal man, enveloped in a swirling, dark cloak, with hair so blonde, it was nearly white. His fingers grasped her arm above her elbow in a vise-like grip. 'You're a disgrace to the title of witch,' he hissed.

Minerva wrenched her arm from his clutch and turned her level gaze to none other than Abraxas Malfoy. 'A disgrace?' she asked archly. She let her eyes travel slowly down the gaunt figure then back to his glittering grey eyes. 'If I were you, I'd exercise a bit more caution in tossing about words like disgrace.' More than once, Jack had mentioned Abraxas Malfoy in extraordinarily unflattering terms, especially his fawning, ingratiating attempts to worm his way into the upper echelons of Ministry , accompanied helpfully with small "gifts" of gold.

Malfoy's eyes bulged in restrained fury. 'You insolent –'

'Better to be thought insolent than unscrupulous,' Minerva sniffed. She took a deliberate step to the side, removing herself from Malfoy's immediate vicinity. 'If you'll excuse me,' she said regally. Unwilling to remain in his company, she pivoted and pushed open the door to the seldom-used stairs. She took them two at a time, and burst through the door on the next floor with a clatter. Nodding to the witch behind a desk in the waiting area for the ward, Minerva continued down the dark corridor until she came to the room that contained patients recovering from burns and peered through the window set in the door. Reggie was the room's sole occupant, tucked into a neatly-made bed, leafing through an ancient and ragged copy of _Witch Weekly_. He looked odd with parts of his face and head still coated with dark-orange paste. She rapped softly on the door and poked her head through the door. 'Are ye feeling well enough for visitors?'

'Absolutely.' Reggie grinned a little, but not too much to avoid stretching the newly healed skin on his cheeks. He gestured to a hard-backed chair next to the bed and remained silent until Minerva had settled into it.

'Ye look well,' she said.

Reggie's hand rose to probe his nose. 'Looked a mess just a couple of days ago. Your Healers are pretty damn good.'

'We'll hae a new flat by next week,' Minerva told Reggie. 'I caught a peek at it yesterday. Unfortunately, it's a wee bit smaller than the old one.' She paused. 'Officially, you and Jack will share a room.'

'Not like any of them in command come by the flat to inspect it,' Reggie commented. 'Besides, Jack an' me are on opposite shifts anyway.'

Minerva glanced at her watch and rose smoothly. 'I'm due at Windsor soon,' she explained.

'They ain't givin' you any time off?' Reggie asked in disbelief.

Minerva's shoulders stiffened. 'I hae a duty,' she said pointedly. 'I took an oath I intend to fulfill to the best of my abilities. I dinna expect special treatment.'

'Settle down, girl,' Reggie said snorted. 'I just thought they might give you some leave at least.'

She shook her head and gathered her handbag and case. 'I need to go. I wanted to see for myself that ye were on the mend.'

'I'll be good as new by the end of the week,' Reggie assured her. 'I'm really sorry about your dad. I never heard that bomb hit… You be careful out there, girl, you hear me?'

'I will.' Minerva promised. She lightly touched the small area on the back of Reggie's left hand that wasn't covered with the orange paste and left the hospital. It was her first day back on duty since her father had died from a German bomb. The memory made her lip curl in distaste. Muggle weapons were crude and indiscriminate, killing man, woman, adult, child, soldier, or civilian alike. Like all Hogwarts students, she had learned defensive magic, as well as offensive magic, much to the chagrin of many a parent. It made sense. After all, how was one to learn how to effectively defend themselves, if they did not know how to cast it? There were exceptions, of course. There always were. The three Unforgivable curses were not taught in the practical side of the class. If you were lucky, you might be able to throw off an Imperius, if you fought or questioned the commands hard enough. With the Cruciatus, you just had to hope the witch or wizard tired of torturing you before you went insane from the pain. It had happened a time or two many, many years before, but it was rare that any witch or wizard relied solely on one curse to gain what they desired. Unless, of course, they enjoyed inflicting pain. That thought alone made Minerva shiver in the warm corridor. Finally, there was the curse against which there was no counter curse in the world that could block it: the Killing curse. Minerva disliked using any sort of offensive magic, if she could avoid it, but at least with spells and curses, one had to be able to _see_ the person receiving the jinx or hex. It personalized battles to Minerva, and duelling at school had only reinforced that.

She Apparated to Windsor and let the guard at the gate check her bags, then wave her though. 'Good morning to you, miss,' the young soldier said, passing her handbag pack to her. Minerva nodded and walked through the gate, entering Windsor through the servants' entrance. The blacked-out windows lent a sinister air to the building, making it feel more like a prison than a royal residence.

She left her personal belongings in her small room, and checked in with her supervisor, and finally took her place at a small, plain desk outside the Queen's office. Minerva uncapped a Muggle pen and reviewed Queen Elizabeth's schedule for the next few days. Mercifully, very few public events were planned, which made Minerva's job that much easier. She quickly became engrossed in sketching the strategies she would use with the Queen's appearances. She liked to have more than one option available in the chance that circumstances could change. The Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret were to attend one or two over the next month, so Minerva made a note to meet with the witches guarding them and coordinate their efforts. The sound of soft footfalls echoed down the corridor and Minerva raised her head to see Princess Elizabeth walking determinedly down toward the Queen's office. 'Miss McGonagall,' the Princess said by way of a greeting.

Minerva stood and dropped a brief curtsey, murmuring, 'Your Royal Highness.' She stood with her hands clasped behind her back. It wasn't rare for the Princesses to venture to this area of the castle, but it wasn't common either. Minerva approved of the young Princess – she had a sensible air about her, and didn't allow things to outwardly ruffle her stereotypical British stiff upper lip.

Princess Elizabeth paused in front of Minerva's desk and inclined her head. 'My mother informed me of your father's death, Miss McGonagall,' she said in her soft, girlish voice. 'A German bomb, was it not?'

'Yes, Ma'am,' Minerva replied. 'He happened to be payin' me a visit.'

Princess Elizabeth reached out a hand and Minerva automatically clasped it in one of hers. The Princess shook it while saying, 'You have my sincere condolences, Miss McGonagall.'

'I thank ye, Ma'am.'

Princess Elizabeth's head bobbed slightly and she strode purposefully from the small antechamber, before suddenly pivoting on a heel and returning to Minerva's desk. 'Miss McGonagall, I was wondering if I might request your assistance in a small personal matter.'

Minerva's mouth twisted in wry humor. 'That would depend on the personal matter, Ma'am.'

'I am eighteen now,' Princess Elizabeth pronounced. 'I should like to help my country in any way possible and in as public a manner as possible.'

'Yes, Ma'am,'

'I thought perhaps I could join the Auxiliary Territorial Service.'

'It's verra difficult work, Ma'am,' Minerva cautioned. 'You'll be required to do physical labor, perhaps quite filthy work, as well.'

Princess Elizabeth's gaze was clear and resolute. 'I want to do my bit, Miss McGonagall. It isn't right that I should be cosseted here behind walls while my country suffers.'

Minerva inhaled slowly. It was a strange position in which to find herself, offering advice to a girl who was mere months younger than she. There was something to be said for attending school away from one's family and forced to account for one's decisions. It gave her an air of a woman far above her nineteen years. 'Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but this is something that ye should do on your own. If ye plan to rule the British Empire someday, ye should learn how to stand on your own feet before it becomes necessary, aye?' Minerva struggled to maintain a straight face at Princess Elizabeth's briefly crestfallen expression. 'If I might make a suggestion to ye, Ma'am…?'

'Yes?'

'You might try to tell your parents what ye just said to me, Ma'am. Ye have a verra good reason to want to be part of the ATS, especially in terms of duty to your country. And don't give up if they happen to say no the first time ye ask.'

'Thank you, Miss McGonagall.'

'You're welcome, Ma'am.' Minerva waited until the Princess disappeared before she resumed her seat. The monarch of England might be little more than a figurehead, but Elizabeth demonstrated an uncanny ability to understand just what figureheads could mean to their country. People would look to her as an example, and hopefully, she would be able to inspire them to follow her lead. At least that's what Minerva hoped would happen someday.

* * *

Jack sat in the Weasleys' back garden, his back propped against the stone wall. It was so quiet in the Devon countryside; he could imagine the war didn't exist outside his imagination, if Reggie hadn't joined them earlier that day, with large patches of shiny, newly healed skin stretching over his face and head, and even the backs of his hands. He had to admit the Healers at St. Mungo's had done a fantastic job on Reggie's burns and other injuries. He tilted his head back to soak in the rays of the late afternoon sunshine, then closed his eyes. If he thought the work might abate a little after the successful Normandy invasion, he was wrong. It had increased with the prediction that they could be in Berlin and end the war by Christmas. He heard the rustle of someone attempting to quietly walk through the taller grass near the wall and inhaled deeply, catching the slight scent of roses from the soap Cedrella and Minerva used. It wasn't Cedrella, the person's gait wasn't the heavy, measured stride of a woman in the later stages of pregnancy. So he wasn't surprised at all when Minerva folded herself to sit next to him. 'How's Reggie settling in?'

'Charmin' Cedrella wi' his skills in the kitchen,' Minerva chuckled. 'And while she's distracted, he's passin' biscuits to Nat.'

Jack eyed Minerva. 'And how are you?'

She shrugged with one shoulder. 'I canna change what happened, aye? Da's gone.'

'When's the service?'

'Day after tomorrow. The Ministry is goin' to transport his… body… to Scotland.'

'Do you mind if I come?' Jack asked.

Minerva shook her head. 'I dinna mind. But you're goin' to hae to deal wi' my aunt Janet. She's Da's sister, and will want me to stop my activities in London and join what she would call proper wizarding society.'

'She sounds like a peach,' Jack snorted.

'Och, aye. She's a great one for people stayin' in their proper place,' Minerva muttered.

'Does she have something against Muggles?' Jack asked curiously.

'No. Just firm ideas about what a witch or wizard ought to do wi' their time. And helpin' fight a Muggle war isna one o' them.'

'Do you ever think about what you're going to do when the war ends?'

Minerva stared into the distance. 'I hadna thought about it, to be honest,' she confessed. 'Before I joined the war effort, I had thought about goin' into Gringotts. Some wealthier families like to hae their valuables charmed to misdirect thieves, or hidden in plain sight.' Her head tilted to one side. 'It wouldna be a bad place to start.'

'You could come to California with me,' Jack blurted in a rush.

Minverva hooted softly. 'Get on wi' ye,' she scoffed.

'I'm serious,' Jack said.

'Dinna be ridiculous,' Minerva said. She pushed herself to her feet and brushed dried grass from the back of her skirt. 'Dinner ought to be ready by now,' she told him, walking back toward the house, effectively ending the conversation. It gave her plenty of food for thought, mulling over Jack's cloaked proposal, while she pushed the food around her plate. If she were forced to admit it, it was an immensely appealing idea. She could go somewhere else and live a life unconstrained by expectations. Besides, it wasn't as if she couldn't travel to Scotland from time to time from California.

But…

There was always one of those, wasn't there?

In spite of Jack's numerations of its good points, Jack had often criticized America in the same breath he castigated the British Ministry. He spoke of the struggles he and his cousin Takeshi had in deciding to join the Army from behind barbed wire surrounding the internment camp where his family had been sent more than two years ago in the wake of the Pearl Harbor bombing by the mere fact of their Japanese heritage. There were too many uncomfortable parallels between that and the stories they heard from the Continent regarding Germany's treatment of people they considered undesirable, which was a considerable list consisting of anyone who dared disagreed with the Nazi Party, but especially those who they identified as Jews. Minerva could at least give the Americans credit for not murdering the Japanese citizens. She had also overheard Jack talking to Tony about one of their friends from Salem who had fallen in love with a witch from Jack's neighborhood, but her family had pressured her to marry a Japanese wizard from the Seattle area. It would be illegal for Minerva to marry Jack in California, especially considering wizardkind in America were subject to American civil laws as well as the magical laws, it would prove difficult to find someone to legally marry them. She also knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that persuading Jack to stay in Britain would be nearly impossible. He wouldn't leave his family behind, whereas she now had no close family left to tie her to Britain any longer.

'Min?' Jack's voice intruded on her internal ruminations.

'Hmmm?'

'Are you feeling all right?'

'Of course. Why do ye ask?'

'You've barely eaten your dinner…'

Minerva looked down at her plate with consternation. She had mindlessly stirred the contents of her plate into unidentifiable mush. She glanced at Cedrella with an abashed expression. 'I'm sorry,' she began. 'I was thinking…' She laid the fork down on the plate. 'I'm afraid I'm no' verra hungry just now.' Minerva pushed her chair back and stood, picking up her plate. 'If you'll excuse me, I think I'll go to bed.' She Vanished the remains of her dinner, then set the plate on the drainboard next to the sink and stole up the stairs to the bathroom on third floor.

Jack murmured his own excuses and followed her up the stairs. 'Min…'

'I've been thinking about what ye asked earlier,' she told him.

'I thought you might be.'

Minerva twisted the claddagh ring around her finger. 'I canna gie ye the answer ye want to hear,' she said softly, regretfully. 'No' yet,' she added.

Jack's mouth tightened and he nodded once. 'I can wait.’

* * *

Thin, grey clouds covered the sky, with a pale sun sending weak rays through small, intermittent breaks in the clouds. Minerva stood next to a gaping hole in the ground, a plain wooden coffin suspended over it with charms. There weren't many people at the service – just Minerva, her aunt, the officiating Ministry wizard, and Jack. The service was mercifully brief. The wizard had only known Angus in passing, so he mouthed the usual platitudes, all the while eyeing Minerva with cold disdain. The wizard waved his wand and the coffin sank into the ground, then the churned up mound of earth lifted and settled into the grave. Minerva herself placed the headstone, a rough square of grey granite, carved with her father's name and the dates of his life and death, stylized thistles etched into the corners. The wizard approached Minerva and placed limp, clammy fingers in her hand by way of a handshake. 'Miss McGonagall,' he began with a purse of his lips. 'My sympathies. While I admire the sentiment that drives you to aid the Muggles, I feel I must add that had it not been for your rash decision to join their cause, your father might still be alive.'

Jack's head reared back. He'd promised Minerva he wouldn't interfere today, but in his opinion that comment had gone beyond the pale. 'Are you blaming Min – er – Miss McGonagall for a situation over which she had absolutely no control? Jesus, man, Mr. McGonagall could have been hit by a bus crossing the street in London. You can't tell me there haven't been witches and wizards here that have been killed by bombs,' he said incredulously.

'Captain Hashimoto,' Minerva interjected stiffly. 'I thank ye for your support, but it isna helpin',' she said pointedly, but softly. She turned to the Ministry wizard. 'Will ye stay for tea?'

The wizard glanced at Jack, still glowering behind Minerva, and shook his head. 'Thank you for the offer, but I must respectfully decline. Duties in the Ministry, you understand.' Minerva nodded and discreetly pressed a small bag into the wizard's palm. It clinked softly as he tucked it into his robes, and Disapparated. It was only when the high-pitched _pop_ of his Apparition faded that Minerva turned and began the short walk back to the house.

She stood in the open doorway of her father's house with the sinking realization that it was now hers. She felt a pair of small, hard hands push her all the way inside the house. 'For Merlin's sake, Minerva, dinna stand about in doorways when ye hae people standin' behind ye, waitin' to enter the house.'

'Sorry, Auntie Janet,' Minerva muttered automatically, albeit grumpily, walking into the kitchen. She picked up her father's old copper teakettle and tapped it with her wand. 'Would ye care for some tea?'

Jack shouldered her aside. 'You sit. I'll make the damn tea,' he said in her ear, so her aunt didn't hear. 'Old bat should be making _you_ tea,' he added under his breath.

Minerva reached for the kettle. 'I'll do it.'

Jack held it out of her reach. 'I am perfectly capable of making tea,' he said firmly. 'My dad's mother didn't care for coffee, and she made sure we knew how to make a cup of tea, even though none of us can stand the stuff. Go sit down,' he ordered sternly, waiting until she had settled into one of the chairs that ringed the table. She had no more than arranged the skirts of her black robes when her aunt launched into a lecture.

'Minerva, when are you goin' to gie up this silly idea of workin' wi' the Muggles and tae your rightful place in the magical community? Cooperation wi' Muggles is one thing, but ye dinna need to spend your best years in service for a world that willna ever understand what ye can do.'

'Auntie Janet,' Minerva sighed impatiently. 'It isna goin' to last forever, aye?'

'Bah!' the older woman declared. 'Nonsense. I dinna understand why your da allowed ye to go harin' off intae London like some sort o' hoyden. In my day, young witches knew their place.'

'If it puts your mind to rest, Auntie Janet, Da didna like it any more than you do,' Minerva snapped.

'O' course he didna,' Janet McGonagall sniffed. 'Ye might be o' age, Minnie, but that doesna mean ye know what's best for ye.'

'Oh, aye?' Minerva snorted skeptically. 'And I suppose ye do?'

'How old are ye now, girl?' Janet countered. 'All o' nineteen? At nineteen ye ought to be trainin' do somethin' wi' your life, no' gallivantin' around London, playactin' like you're a Muggle while you're workin' as a glorified nursemaid.'

Jack set the teapot on the table with enough force that tea sloshed from the spout and puddled the surface of the polished table. Minerva shook her head slightly and he inhaled deeply to maintain his grip on his temper while he retrieved the sugar bowl and poured fresh milk into the milk jug. He set them next to the teapot then placed cups, saucers, and spoons in front of Minerva and Janet. 'I'm going for a walk,' Jack muttered to Minerva, as he marched from the kitchen. The door slammed behind him and Janet added milk to her tea and took a cautious sip to test it. 'At least he can brew a decent cuppa,' Janet said smugly. She glared at Minerva over the rim of her cup. 'Dinna get mixed up wi' him,' she warned. 'Americans, ye ken.'

Minerva stirred milk and sugar into her tea, but left it untasted on the table. Normally, she let Janet scold to her heart's content, but her mother's letters encouraging her to do what she felt was right echoed in her head. Her father had cultivated in her a strong sense of commitment. She could taste her conversation with Princess Elizabeth, in which she'd pushed the girl to stand up for her beliefs. If she was going to do more than spout empty words, she ought to do the same. 'Da might not hae liked what I chose to do, Auntie Janet, but he did teach me to honor my responsibilities. And I will continue to do so until their war ends, whether ye like it or no'. If ye dinna like it, that isna my problem, aye? How can ye all but order me to turn my back on what I've promised to do and his body not even cold in his grave! I trust ye can see yourself home.' With that Minerva gathered her skirts in one hand and stood. She swept from the kitchen and out into the front garden, where Jack perched on a large boulder. 'Shall we go?' She Disapparated to the Weasleys' home in Devon without waiting for a response.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack stormed from the kitchen, and retreated to the bedroom. He savagely knotted his tie and jerked on his jacket, socks, and shoes, before snatching up his garrison cap and left the flat without so much as another word.
> 
> As he all but marched down the street, Jack felt a sense of helplessness he had felt since the beginning of his involvement in the war. Not when his family was forced to leave their home and go to that infernal internment camp in Utah. Not when he sat in round after round of strategy meetings with the British and American armed forces to plan the Normandy invasion. Not even when he watched the planes rumble into the darkened sky in June to cross the English Channel, knowing that Frankie or Tony might very well die that day and in the ones to follow.
> 
> Later in Jack's life, he could look back and pinpoint this day - this moment, actually - was when he realized the all too human limitations of magic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is an extraordinarily long note at the end with some historical details.

The sound of running water woke Minerva from her fitful sleep. She grimaced and pulled her knees into her chest and burrowed into the pillow. Summer's heat still lingered during the day, but the nights were cool, and she was grateful for the combined warmth of Jack's slumbering body and the feather duvet. Jack rolled over, throwing an arm over her waist, muttering something unintelligible. He stretched, nuzzling her shoulder. 'Wha' time is it?' he asked sleepily.

She squinted at the clock on the windowsill just over her head. 'Half past six.'

Jack lifted his head and peered at her, noting her puffy and bloodshot eyes. 'Rough night?'

'Ye could say that,' Minerva sighed. She flipped the duvet back and slid from the bed, reaching for her dressing gown draped over a chair. 'I think I'll just go and make myself a cup of tea.'

'I'll come make breakfast if you want,' Jack yawned.

Minerva closed her burning eyes and pictured a quiet half hour with a solitary pot of tea and a cold compress for her head. She shook her head and bent over the bed, brushing a kiss over Jack's mouth. 'No, but I thank ye.'

Jack opened one eye to a bare slit. 'You really do look like hell,' he commented. 'I can run a bath for you.'

Minerva shook her head. 'It is a lovely idea, _mo cridhe_, but no' just now.' She straightened and pulled the dressing gown over her arms and shoulders. 'Go back to sleep wi' ye. We've a long day ahead of us, aye?' She stooped to gather her slippers, smiling a little as the sound of Jack's breathing lengthened and deepened in a matter of seconds. 'Dinna take much for ye tae sleep, does it?' she murmured, slipping quietly from the room.

Unlike their late, and much lamented, previous flat, this one encompassed only one floor. A tiny thing in comparison, with a scrap of a sitting room, combined with a minuscule kitchen, and two small bedrooms. The bathroom itself was barely large enough to accommodate a basin, toilet and the bath. Minerva felt crammed into the flat and felt as if she could hardly draw breath in such confinement. She was immediately suffused with shame at the thought, considering so many others in London had lost their homes. Minerva ducked her head guiltily, and dropped the slippers on the worn carpet runner in the corridor. She stepped into them and padded to the kitchen. 'Ye should be grateful ye hae a roof over your head, lass,' she muttered, pushing open the swinging door that provided a modicum of separation from the rest of the flat.

A strange man sat at their table, fingers wrapped tightly around a glass of water, staring dully into the clear liquid. It was a look Minerva had seen on men in hospital - the ones who curled up in their beds, staring at a point in space only they could see. Minerva pulled her wand from the pocket of the dressing gown, and aimed it between his eyes. 'Who are you?' she demanded.

'Vere is John?' the man asked in a raspy voice.

'I beg your pardon?' Minerva.

'I require Captain Hashimoto,' the man elaborated

'Who shall I say is callin' on him?' Minerva retorted tartly.

The man heaved a sigh. 'I did not know John had...' He paused significantly, eyeing Minerva's _dishabille. _'Company.'

Minerva drew herself up with an indignant snort. 'I wouldna call myself _company_,' she sniffed disdainfully, immediately catching the man's intent. 'Who are ye and why are ye here?' she repeated, extending her wand a fraction.

The man sighed once more and his shoulders drooped slightly signaling resignation. 'I am Jan Zielinksi. From Warsaw. I must speak vith John.' Minerva nodded and backed from the room, keeping her wand suspiciously trained on Jan. She spun on her heel once the door had closed behind her and swiftly traversed the few yards down the corridor to the bedroom she shared with Jack.

Without bothering to attempt stealth of any sort, Minerva barged into the room and briskly shook Jack awake. 'There's a man waiting for you,' she said peremptorily.

'Hah?' Jack gazed up at Minerva in bemusement.

'Jan...' Minerva's mouth twisted as she considered attempting to pronounce Jan's full name. 'Jan from Warsaw,' she said.

Jack sat bolt upright. 'I'll be right out,' he told her. 'Could you go make him some tea or something?' He scrambled for his clothing, muttering, 'Jesus H. Christ. What in the hell happened?'

Minerva stood in the doorway with one hand holding the door open. 'I dinna suppose ye'll find it in ye to explain?'

Jack looked up from fastening his trousers. 'I will,' he promised. 'Go back out for me, please? Tell Jan I'll be out in a moment.'

Minerva exhaled through her nose, and returned to the kitchen area. 'Tea?' she asked. 'Or do ye prefer coffee?'

Jan's eyes dimly lit with a distant remembrance. 'You can still acquire real tea?'

Minerva took the brown teapot down from a shelf. 'We can. It's rationed of course, so it isna much, but it's still tea. And the milk's powdered,' she added apologetically.

'Tea,' breathed Jan, his face falling into sad, bittersweet lines. 'Forgive me,' he said shakily. 'It has been such a very long time since I have had actual tea.'

Jack bounded into the kitchen, still buttoning his olive drab shirt. Water dripped from his hair and the point of his chin to create dark spots on the shoulders and front of it. 'What the hell?' he hissed. 'You're supposed to be in Warsaw!'

Minerva set the teapot on the table near Jan's elbow. 'Ye think he doesna ken that?' she huffed under her breath, Summoning two mugs for the tea. She held up the milk jug inquiringly and Jan nodded. She poured milk into Jan's mug, added tea, a few cubes of precious sugar, and after a moment's consideration, a healthy dollop of her father's prized Bilshen's Firewhisky. Minerva didn't think Angus would mind, as Jan obviously needed it. She set the mug in front of him, and poured a mug of tea for herself, adding neither milk, nor sugar. She'd set aside the remainder of her week's ration for Jan without a second thought.

Jan lifted the mug and took a long, fortifying sip of his tea. 'Ve need your help,' he said. 'The uprising is going to fail if ve do not obtain supplies. You know as vell as I that there is only so much a vizard can do in his situation. I cannot create food or ammunition out of thin air! Ven are the Americans coming to help?' Jan's voice took on a note of hysterical desperation. He turned to Minerva. 'Or the British?'

'Jan.' Jack spoke calmly, but his stomach roiled at what he was about to say. 'They're not.'

'Vhy not?' Jan asked sharply.

Jack knuckled an eye, contemplating the best way to break the news to Jan. 'They say it's not worth the risk to the alliance. Stalin won't let Britain or America use a Soviet airfield. The airfields we can use are in Britain or Italy. The distance limits how much we can put on an aircraft. If Roosevelt or Churchill try to force the issue, it could upset the alliance with Stalin. After Normandy the pendulum started to swing our way, and they don't want to lose that,' he explained, feeling as if he was personally letting Jan and the Polish Resistance down. 'And they're so fucking dogmatic about doing things _their_ way, they refused to even consider using a couple of wizards on the planes during the airlift last week. We might have been able to supply the resistance from Italy if they'd let us at least charm the cargo so it's lighter. We could have at least directed most of the supplies to you. Instead, I'm told they mostly fell into German hands.' Jack gave a short bark of humorless laughter. 'All that effort, and we end up supplying the bastards we're supposed to be fighting.'

Jan had gone paper white the longer Jack spoke until the only color on his face blazed from his black eyes. 'You are telling me that no help is coming,' he stated flatly. 'Ve are on our own.' Jack nodded in assent. 'Can you at least explain to me vhy the Russians just stopped outside of Warsaw? The Germans could have been defeated.'

Jack's mouth worked for a few seconds, as if the words tasted foul on his tongue. 'I wish I knew,' he managed. 'Unfortunately, I don't.'

'Vhat do you know?' Jan asked bitterly.

'Nothing of use to you.' Jack's eyes were moist. Minerva knew if any tears were to be shed that day, they would be of mortification and mourning.

'Vill they do anything for those unfortunates in the camps?' Jan persisted.

Minerva's brows drew together and she glanced at Jack in inquiry. _Camps?_ she mouthed. Jack shook his head almost imperceptibly. Turning to Jan he replied, 'They know the camps exist from a few people who've escaped and broken radio codes,' he admitted. 'But they can't see a feasible way to actually _do_ anything about it right now. 'If we bomb the railroad tracks, will it actually stop or slow down the killings?' he said with obvious anguish. 'If we bomb the camp itself, we'll unnecessarily kill civilians, and God only knows what the propaganda machine on their side will come up with to explain that.' He spread his hands in mute impotence. 'If what we've heard is true, it's hundreds of thousands of people, if not millions. There's only so many of us who could Apparate in and out.' Jack rested his hands, on the table, fingers spread apart, pressing against the worn surface. 'If there are wizards and witches, we don't know who they are, and again, if the stories are true, any belongings they brought with them were confiscated. So no wands. And they appear to have Anti-Apparition jinxes on the camps that we know exist for sure.

I've spent hours and hours trying to come up with some sort of solution. I have a few theories, but put into practice, the risks start to outweigh any potential benefits, and the benefits are vanishingly small to begin with.'

Jan scrutinized Jack for several minutes while he slowly sipped the remainder of the tea in his mug. When it was empty, he carefully set it down on the table and rose to his feet. 'I vould like to extend my thanks to you, madam, for your hospitality,' he said to Minerva, with a slight bow.

'The pleasure was mine,' she replied, inclining her head.

Jan held out a hand to Jack. 'I vish ve could part under better circumstances.' Jack took the proffered hand and gripped it tightly. 'I do not blame you. The decisions that have been made are not of your making. You did vhat you could. Do not dwell on it.'

'Where are you going?' Jack asked hoarsely.

Jan smiled sadly. 'You know the answer to that, I think.'

Jack's eyes bulged from their sockets. 'Have you lost your goddamned mind?' he blurted. 'That's suicide! Stay here. Please.'

Jan shook his head slowly. 'I could not live vith myself if I did not return to do vhat I could for my country.' He shrugged expansively. 'Either vay, I am a dead man.' With that, Jan turned on the spot and Disappeared.

Jack stormed from the kitchen, and retreated to the bedroom. He savagely knotted his tie and jerked on his jacket, socks, and shoes, before snatching up his garrison cap and left the flat without so much as another word.

As he all but marched down the street, Jack felt a sense of helplessness he had felt since the beginning of his involvement in the war. Not when his family was forced to leave their home and go to that infernal internment camp in Utah. Not when he sat in round after round of strategy meetings with the British and American armed forces to plan the Normandy invasion. Not even when he watched the planes rumble into the darkened sky in June to cross the English Channel, knowing that Frankie or Tony might very well die that day and in the ones to follow.

Later in Jack's life, he could look back and pinpoint this day - this moment, actually - was when he realized the all too human limitations of magic.

* * *

Minerva slid under the duvet and pulled it over her shoulders. She shifted onto her side; hand tucked under her pillow and gazed at Jack appraisingly. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands laced together under his head. He'd come home from the Office of Strategic Services headquarters in Grosvenor Street that evening, and barely said more than five words before retiring to bed. 'Can ye tell me about those camps Jan mentioned, or is it somethin' that's supposed to be a secret?'

Jack turned his head on the pillow to face her. 'How much did you pay attention to what happened on the continent?'

'Not much,' she admitted apologetically. 'I was just a wee girl when that man came to power in Germany. And then I started school, and we were a bit isolated, ye ken, and I dinna follow Muggle news verra often.'

Jack sighed deeply and returned his gaze to the ceiling. 'It started in nineteen thirty-three. Rules, regulations, laws. You name it. Dictating where people – Jews mostly, but later other groups like Gypsies – where they could work; banned them from parks, beaches, and other public places; who they could hire; banned them from hospitals; even going so far as to outlaw sex between someone identified as a Jew and a non-Jew. Six years ago, all Jews were required to wear a yellow badge on their clothing in the shape of Star of David. Jews were forced into ghettos, starved, beaten, killed, or deported to these camps, where they were starved, beaten, or killed. We've known about how the Nazis were treating Jews and others they didn't particularly like for six years. Since early November of nineteen thirty-eight. About seven months before you arrived here, someone smuggled out evidence of what was going on in Poland.' He lifted a hand to his mouth, and began to gnaw the ragged edge of a thumbnail. 'We've known about it for years, but as of right now, it's not a priority.' Jack dragged both hands down his face. 'I wish there was something more we could do,' he said dispiritedly. 'Those are the things that stay with you,' he added to nobody in particular. 'Haunted by the people you might have been able to save.'

* * *

Jack stood just outside the entrance of a church-cum-field hospital in Bastogne. He'd volunteered to make the highly risky journey – albeit by Portkey – to check in with Tony or Frankie. It was bitterly cold and the air was thick with fog and sleet. Snow thickly covered what ground that had not been churned up into a dangerous mélange of muck and rubble, coated with ice. A faint, underlying fug of filth, illness, and blood seeped into his nose and coated his tongue. Bile rose in his throat, but Jack choked it back, even though he knew there would be no shame if he vomited in the street. He would neither be the first, nor the last to do so.

Steeling himself, Jack entered the church, filled with wounded soldiers. Nurses and doctors flitted purposefully between cots tending to wounds, changing stained dressings, or just offering what comfort they could to a dying man. Warm candlelight flickered in alcoves, an incongruous companion to the misery it illuminated. A young woman glanced up from the soldier she tended and saw Jack standing near the door, clearly out of his element. She gave the young man – little more than a boy, really – a final gentle pat on the shoulder and a murmured word or two, and made her way to Jack. '_Bonsoir_,' she said.

'_Bonsoir_,' Jack replied awkwardly. He spoke only a smattering of French, and badly at that. Reggie would have been a better choice in this situation. He spoke excellent French, from his mother's insistence that he learn it. '_Parlez-vous anglais_?' he asked haltingly.

The girl smiled a little. '_Oui_. 'Ow may I 'elp oo?'

Jack sighed in relief. Her thickly accented English was much more fluid than his rudimentary French. 'I'm looking for a Lieutenant Antonio Lopez with the 101st Airborne. He's a medic.'

The girl nodded in recognition. 'Wait 'ere.' She darted off through the maze of cots until she came to another young woman, tiny with dark hair covered by a kerchief. The second woman rose from the patient's bedside and hastily washed her hands in a nearby basin. Her hands were ruddy from the cold and harsh conditions, with dried blood caked into the creases. She wiped her hands on a scrap of a towel and approached Jack.

'Ow do you do?' she said holding out a hand. Jack shook it firmly. 'Jeanne Delacour.'

'Captain John Hashimoto.'

'I understand you are looking for _cher _Antoine.'

'Yeah.'

Jeanne's fine, dark brows drew together in a slight frown. ''Ee ees at ze front, but we might be able to organize transport for you wiz an ambulance eef eet ess urgent.'

'It's not that urgent,' Jack assured her. 'I can wait for him.'

The sound of an engine at high speed broke through the night, and Jack peered through the door to see a Jeep careening toward the hospital, Tony straddling a stretcher strapped to the back of, clinging to the stretcher frame for dear life while vainly attempting to apply pressure to a bloody wound. Jeanne pushed Jack to the side and rushed to the stretcher as the Jeep skidded to a halt. Tony scrambled down and the driver helped him carry the wounded soldier into the hospital, while Tony hurriedly told Jeanne the man's status and she took over the job of attempting to staunch the bleeding.

To Jack's unversed ears, the situation sounded grim.

They set the stretcher down on a vacant cot, and gently rolled the man off it. Jeanne lifted the soaked pad of gauze from the wound and pressed a clean one over it. It was telling how little the man struggled or how few sounds he made, other than the rattle of his breathing. Jeanne's lips pressed together as her gaze darted fearfully around the room. She removed a small vial from her pocket and furtively sprinkled a few drops of a liquid over the worst of the injuries that Jack could see. After several agonizing moments, the blood slowed to a trickle, then stopped. Tony pressed his fingers against the man's neck and stared at his wristwatch. 'Come on,' he pleaded. 'Come on, come on…' He shook his head and removed his hand. 'He's gone,' Tony said woodenly, looking up. He started a little to see Jack standing to the side.

Jeanne gently unfurled a rough blanket over the soldier and drew it over his face. She squeezed Tony's hand in sympathy. 'Would you like some tea?' Tony nodded morosely.

Jeanne glanced at Jack inquiringly and he murmured, 'Please. Thank you.'

Jeanne scurried away and returned in moments with two large tin mugs, steam billowing over the rims. 'I am afraid zere ees no honey to sweeten eet.' She handed them the mugs and Jack lifted his to his nose, inhaling an herbal aroma. 'Eet ees only chamomile,' Jeanne remarked. 'Good for sleep, no?' Tony coughed on a sip of the tea and glared at her. 'Zere ees nozing een eet, Antoine. Only ze tea.' She flounced away with a toss of her head.

'Wouldn't put it past her to put a Sleeping draft in it,' Tony said, with a jerk of his head to the door. Jack followed him outside, and they perched on a pile of crumbled brick, heedless of the cold that seeped through their clothes. Tony sipped the hot tea, cradling the mug between his hands. 'You're a sight for sore eyes.'

'How are you?'

Tony looked up at the night sky, squinting at the rolling fog swirling over their heads. 'I don't remember what it's like to be completely warm. Or what a hot shower feels like. I think my drawers can stand up on their own by now.' He gazed at a distant point and his voice lowered to a murmur. 'Frankie's going to need some help when we get home. If we get home, that is,' he added. 'Have you ever seen those guys who get sent to a hospital in England, and they just lie on their cot and stare into space? Like they shut themselves away because they can't deal with all of this?'

'A few.'

'I think he might be headed there,' Tony confessed. 'He's a few clicks down the line from me. One of the guys in his company found me and told me Frankie will just sit in his foxhole between his rounds checking on them. Says he almost sleepwalks through it and only comes to life when there's been an attack and someone's wounded.'

'Damn it,' Jack swore. 'I knew I ought to have sent Reggie…'

'You couldn't have sent Reg, and you know it. They wouldn't've allowed it.' Tony shrugged with one shoulder. 'Besides, it can happen to any of us. I'm more concerned about what might happen if we can't hold the line here. You know what could happen to Frankie if the Germans capture him.'

Jack's jaw clenched and he replied, 'I do,' with the vision of Jan sitting at the table, begging for help hovering in his mind. 'If we'd succeeded in Holland, we'd be having this conversation in Berlin.'

Tony shrugged. 'If's a mighty big word, Jack.'

'How are you doing?'

Tony lifted the mug to his lips and sipped his rapidly cooling tea. 'I keep thinking of all the ways we have to heal people and how I can't use them, or risk exposing myself. I've got dittany and essence of murtlap hidden in my kit, but I can only use it sparingly or watered down so it does the job slowly, like you saw Jeanne do back there. Most charms are out. I do enough of a Drying or Warming charm to keep the trench foot or frostbite at bay. They sent us here without adequate food or supplies. They can't airlift what we need because of the weather.

'Can't produce something out of nothing. I can't just snap my fingers and have dry socks or ammunition appear somewhere. I do what I can with the medical kit, but I can't keep a never-ending supply of morphine or sulfa. It looks suspicious. I keep a bit aside so I can conjure a few more so it's like, oh, look what I found. Using just enough magic to supplement doing things the Muggle way so my casualties aren't catastrophic. We can't afford to lose more men than we have to. If I can do something about a relatively minor injury so it keeps the soldier here, then I'll do it.' Tony broke into a sudden, unexpected grin. 'Most of the time, unless they've had an arm or leg blown off, they don't want to leave the front anyway. Just patch it up, Doc, they say.' He fished in his overcoat pocked and came up with a grimy scrap of cloth that he used to blow his nose. Jack tactfully took the time to examine the contents of his mug until Tony put the cloth away. They sat next to each other in silence for several minutes, the faint sound of heavy artillery in the background. 'It's amazing what Muggles can do without magic,' Tony remarked idly. 'How they've come up with ways to do things we only think about for half a second. Like transportation or communication. Airplanes, submarines. The telephone. Even stuff like surgery and stitches. Stitches… _Mami_ would lose her mind if she knew I was stitching flesh back together. But it does the job. Blood transfusions. Simply amazing.' His face darkened as it turned toward the sound of the artillery. 'Then you look at the chaos they've created. How much destruction they can cause with just one piece of that remarkable machinery. And you don't wonder why wizardkind wants nothing to do with them.'

'Tony,' Jack said, alarmed at the tone his friend had taken.

Tony shook himself, and grinned lopsidedly. 'Don't worry. I'm not going over into Dark magic or Muggle-baiting. We're not exactly perfect ourselves. We've got plenty of our own issues.' He collected the mugs and took them inside the hospital, then returned. 'Are you going back to England tonight?'

'Yeah.' Jack clambered off the pile of brick and stood next to Tony. 'Help is on its way, I promise.'

'Thanks.' Tony pulled Jack into a firm embrace. 'Take care of yourself,' he muttered, pounding Jack on the back.

'You, too. Contact me if Frankie gets in too far, okay?'

'Roger, wilco,' Tony replied, with a salute.

'See you in Berlin.'

Tony laughed shortly. 'You know, I don't think I'm cut out to be an Auror any more.'

Jack's breath hitched slightly. Tony was his partner in crime, so to speak. 'What do you mean? You're leaving the Aurors?'

'I think I'll see about training as a Healer, maybe.' Tony punched Jack lightly in the arm. 'Someone's got to patch your sorry ass up when you get into trouble!' he said as he jogged to the waiting Jeep, and hopped into the front. It sped off into the forest surrounding Bastogne and Jack slipped into a bombed-out building and removed a small tin can from his pocket. He held it clenched in his hand until the familiar jerking sensation behind his navel carried him to Normandy where a broom waited to return him to England's shores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little light on Minerva for this one, but I've been wanting to explore the war from the guys' side for a while.
> 
> When Jack refers to the action in Holland, he's referring to Operation Market Garden, or the Battle of Arnhem, an effort to secure a series of bridges over the major waterways in the Netherlands. At the time, the German army was retreating toward the German border, and the Allied forces thought they could parachute in and liberate the rest of the Netherlands. Had Market Garden succeeded, the war would have probably ended by the end of 1944 or very early 1945. What the Allies didn't know was a German officer rallied the remains of the troops into a formidable fighting force with heavy artillery that repelled the paratroopers advance. The weather in England delayed sending reinforcements, and subsequent supply drops ended up in German hands. Over 15,000 Allied troops were killed or injured. The numbers for the German losses are incomplete, but estimates fall between 3,000 to 13,000.
> 
> The Battle of Bastogne was a siege of sorts. Bastogne was an important town to fall into Allied hands – 7 paved roads led in and out of the village. The 82nd and 101st Airborne troops were sent into Bastogne from Camp Mourmelon in France after fighting for two months in the Netherlands. They were supposed to have re-supplied in France, but the order came though to go to Belgium, and with insufficient ammunition, food, supplies, and especially clothing, they were convoyed into the Ardennes and Bastogne. American paratroopers formed a ring around Bastogne. The Americans were surrounded by two German Panzer divisions. The bulk of the German forces left to continue another mission, leaving behind a small force to attempt to break into Bastogne. The Americans were able to hold off the Germans by shifting their forces where they were needed most during the siege. By the time help arrived for the Germans, it was too little too late. Two days later, parts of General Patton's Third Army broke through the German siege and supplied the paratroopers there with support, supplies, and the ability to evacuate the wounded to the rear. If you were to ask a member of the 101st Airborne, though, they would heatedly deny they needed to be saved.
> 
> The HBO series Band of Brothers has 2 episodes that cover Market Garden and Bastogne. Episode 4, "Replacements" deals with the Netherlands campaign and Market Garden. Episode 6, "Bastogne" is about the siege of Bastogne. I highly recommend watching the entire series. If you prefer to read about it, the series was based on the book, Band of Brothers: E Company, 506th Regiment, 101st Airborne From Normandy to Hitler's Eagle's Nest by Stephen Ambrose. It's not a difficult, dry read at all. I found it quite interesting.
> 
> The Warsaw Uprising is different from the Warsaw Ghetto uprising. The Ghetto Uprising began in response to the attempted liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto, after over 300,000 Jews had been sent to concentration camps. Beginning on April 19, 1943, several thousand Jews in the Ghetto fought against their Nazi captors. They lasted a month. In the end 7,000 Jews were killed in the fighting, another 7,000 were deported to Treblinka, where they were gassed upon arrival. The remaining Jews (sources say there were 42,000) were deported to the Lublin/Majdanek concentration camp, and to the forced-labor camps of Poniatowa, Trawniki, Budzyn, and Krasnik. All, save for a few thousand inmates at Budzyn and Krasnik, were later murdered. The Warsaw Uprising happened a bit more than a year later, beginning on August 1, 1944, lasting until October 2, 1944. It was supposed to liberate the city from German hands, and timed to coincide with the arrival of the Soviet Army on the outskirts of Warsaw. Inexplicably, the Soviets stopped and refused to support the efforts of the Polish Home Army in Warsaw. Furthermore, they refused to help the British and American efforts to aid the fighters in Warsaw. In the end, 16,000 Polish Resistance fighters were killed, with another 6,000 wounded. 150,000-200,000 Polish civilians were killed in the fighting, mostly through mass executions. Between the German invasion of Poland in September 1939, the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, and the Warsaw Uprising, over 85% of the city had been destroyed by the time the Germans fled in January 1945, with an estimated $30 billion in damages.


End file.
